#real Dartboard pairings

[roosterforme]

Red Flags, Green Flags | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Hangman complains about his date’s red flags, but Bradley thinks this girl sounds amazing. 

Warnings: Fluff!

Length: 1900 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

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Hangman tossed some darts listlessly at the dartboard and sighed.  "What's your problem, man?" Bradley asked. "You look miserable tonight." "Yeah, you usually get off on beating us at darts. What's wrong?" Phoenix asked.  "I have a girl meeting me here for a second date in a little while," Hangman drawled, sipping his whiskey. "I'm beginning to think I shouldn't have asked her out again." Payback snorted. "What's wrong with her? She not hot enough for you?"

Bradley rolled his eyes. That was probably the case as each girl Jake dated somehow looked more like a model than the previous one. "Nah, she's real cute," Hangman said, scratching his chin. "She's just giving off some red flags for me. I think I was momentarily blinded by her face when I asked her out again, because she's definitely not my type." "What red flags does she have?" Phoenix asked, taking her turn at darts.  Bradley settled into his seat to listen. This ought to be good. "Well, she's really close with her family. Likes spending time with them," Jake said with a frown. Bradley's brow scrunched up; he thought that sounded pretty nice, actually. "And she volunteers all the time. At the library and the animal shelter and the soup kitchen. She's always so busy, it took forever to even schedule the first date! So I don't see this lasting past tonight," Jake added, finishing his drink. "She sounds pretty good to me," Bradley said cautiously. Actually she sounded really great. "You could always volunteer with her one day, then you'd get to spend some time with her." Jake scoffed. "I'd rather just find a girl who wants to spend her time with me," he said, flashing his charming smile. "This one is finishing graduate school for social work and likes to take her grandma to bingo. Plus, she definitely seems like the kind of girl who would wanna hold hands all the time." He grimaced as he finished.  Bradley just gaped at the other aviator, rendered speechless, because Jake had just described his dream girl. Cute, smart, helpful, loving, independent, and kind. And if she agreed to a second date with Jake, then she was definitely interested in him. "What the fuck is wrong with you, dude?" "Oh shit, there she is," Jake grumbled, setting down his glass and heading toward the bar. Bradley stood up and stared as Jake approached a beautiful woman with a stunning smile.   "Is he for real?" Bradley asked Phoenix in a dreamy voice. "She's awesome." "He's an idiot, but we already knew that," Phoenix told him with a smirk. "Why don't you go talk to her, Rooster. She's adorable." Bradley shook his head. "I can't, Nat. She's on a date with him!" But the more Bradley watched you and Jake together, it seemed like you weren't really into him either. You were smiling, but it wasn't reaching your eyes, and you had your arms crossed as Jake chatted with you. "Hmmm, fuck it," Bradley muttered as he took a deep breath and headed for the bar.  ---------------------------------------- Jake was nice and attractive, but he wasn't really doing anything for you. And now you were starting to regret agreeing to meet him here. You'd been contemplating calling him all day and canceling for tonight and any future dates, but you ultimately decided to give it one more shot.  But now you weren't paying any attention to him at all, because your eyes just landed on the most handsome man you'd seen in a long time walking up to the bar near where you were standing. He was literally the definition of tall, dark and handsome, and wearing a fun Hawaiian shirt. And he was looking right at you.  You felt yourself smile at him like an idiot when he grinned at you from behind Jake. He had a mustache that somehow made him look cute and playful. You wished he would say something to you. Oh shit, you hadn't heard anything Jake was saying.  You tried to pry your attention away from the newcomer, but then he rested a hand on Jake's shoulder and said, "Hey, Hangman, you gonna introduce me to your new friend?"  His voice! You were biting the inside of your cheek to keep calm, because this man's voice was sexy. Like pillow talk sexy, and making out in a movie theater sexy.  "Uh, sure," Jake replied, looking mildly annoyed. "Y/N, this is Rooster. Rooster, this is Y/N." "That's a pretty name," Rooster told you with a crooked grin, and it took you a second to realize he was talking about you. "Thanks," you replied with a laugh. "Rooster must be your call sign? You're an aviator, too?" "Yeah, my name's Bradley." "Bradley, it's nice to meet you." You liked his name, and his silly call sign. You liked the way he was looking at you and his kind brown eyes.  "Jake didn't get you a drink? That's not very nice, Jake," Bradley said to your date who just shrugged. "I'll get you one. What do you want, Y/N?"  You had to bite your lip before you accidentally replied with 'you'.  "Gin and tonic," you told him, and you watched as he was instantly flagging down a bartender. His huge bicep was flexing below his sleeve as he leaned against the bar and turned toward you. "So, Jake was telling us all about you," he said, and you were surprised once again to find Jake was still in your proximity, because Bradley had your full attention now. "Really?" you asked, eyeing Jake, surprised he would have been telling anyone about you. There wasn't much to tell after the first date. He didn't seem that interested in you, and you hadn't even kissed him goodnight.  "Yeah, he said you're getting a master's degree, and that you like volunteering and hanging out with your grandma," Bradley said, handing your drink to you when it arrived.  "Um, yeah, I do," you said with a blush as Jake smirked at you.  But you turned your attention back to Bradley when he spoke again. "That's cool. I volunteer with Big Brothers and Big Sisters as a youth mentor. And I used to love knitting with my grandma when I was a kid. I'm still pretty good at it, actually." Your jaw was hanging open, and you were having a hard time speaking. Was he for real? You took a sip of your drink and tried to gather your thoughts. Was it okay to ditch Jake and hang out with Bradley instead?  "I volunteer a few times a week, but I always make sure I have time to take my Nana to bingo," you said with a laugh when Bradley smiled at you. "You're really a youth mentor?" "Yeah, last week I took some kids on a hike to the state park beach, and Wednesday evening I'm going to teach them how to bake a cake," he told you before finishing his beer and setting down the bottle. "That's sexy," you said, surprising yourself and Bradley. But you didn't regret saying it. Not one bit. Because Bradley's cheeks flushed pink, and your eyes were drawn to his scars that you were itching to touch.  A startled laugh escaped his lips. "You think so?" "Yeah," you said, nodding your head fervently. Bradley shifted closer to you, and you noticed that Jake was nowhere to be found.  ---------------------------------------

Bradley liked you. A lot. You were absolutely gorgeous to look at, but you were also smart and funny and interesting. The more he asked you about yourself, the more interested he was.  You told him about school and your family and how much you loved going to the beach. And now you were so close to him, you were tracing his watch band with your fingers while you talked.  "I think it's sweet that you used to knit with your grandma. Mine is practically a professional bingo player, she wins almost every week. And she's really cocky about it too," you said, and Bradley laughed. "She is! She likes to gloat about it when she plays shuffleboard." "She sounds fun," he told you. "And just so you know, I'm pretty good at bingo, and grandmas love me." "I'll bet they do." You actually giggled. He was making you giggle. God, he didn't want this night to end. He was trying to think of a way to ask you out, without making it awkward for you or Jake. "So what kind of cake are you baking on Wednesday?" you asked him playfully.  "Not sure yet, but I was thinking about chocolate. You wanna come over and help?" Bradley couldn't explain it, but the idea of you helping him with the baking project had him excited. "You could stay and hang out afterwards. Maybe we could watch a movie together and have some of the cake?" "Are you asking me on a date while I'm technically still on a date with Jake?" you asked him with a grin. "Oh, your date with Jake ended a good thirty minutes ago," he informed you with a very serious look. "Now you're on a first date with me. You having fun?" You started laughing and looked away as your cheeks flushed. "A lot of fun, actually. I like you. You had me at youth mentor and really sealed the deal when you offered to feed me chocolate cake." Bradley couldn't stop smiling. "Can I get your phone number?" "Yes," you replied, and Bradley noticed you and he were standing so close now, your bodies were practically touching.  He watched you type your name and number into his phone as he asked, "You'll come over on Wednesday then? For our second date?" "Yes," you replied, handing his phone back to him with a smirk, but your lips were twitching like you wanted to laugh.  "Since we're going out now, is it cool if I kiss you?" Bradley asked with a smirk of his own. Your lips looked so soft, and Bradley really wanted to touch you.  You smiled up at him and said, "That was pretty smooth," before running your fingers along his scarred neck and up into his hair, pulling him closer.  Bradley leaned down until his lips met yours, and it was the perfect kiss. You were perfect for him. He put his hands around your waist and pulled you a little closer, kissing you a little deeper.  When you pulled back, you pressed your lips together. "Text me your address and I'll be there on Wednesday. For cake baking assistance and our second date." "I will. I can't wait to see you again," Bradley replied, and it was the truth. Bradley walked you to your car, and with one more sweet kiss you were gone. When Bradley went back inside to settle his tab, Jake approached him. "You stole my date," Jake drawled, shaking his head but smiling. Bradley just grinned at Hangman. "It's pretty funny when you think about how she completely ditched you for me. Maybe I'll let you give a speech about it at the wedding."

--------------------------------------

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[apomaro-mellow]

King and Prince 17

Part 16

When Steve undressed that evening, he hung up the new outfit from Eddie with care. Tired from the day, he collapsed onto the bed, stripped down to nothing which was how Robin found him that morning, causing her to awaken him with a shriek.

Steve found his bed covered in an assortment of folded clothes, both for the daytime and for slumbering. They were meant for daily activities, so none as fine as the green outfit Eddie had gotten him before. But somehow Steve knew it was all the king’s doing.

One evening, Steve and Robin were recataloging books, when she finally spoke up about this strange relationship they had been forming.

“You probably spent your nights with more excitement. A lass on one arm a drink in another”, she said only half derisively. She was up on a ladder while Steve passed books to her from a cart.

“Eh, not all it’s cracked up to be. Besides, I got a lass and a drink right here.”

Robin raised a brow before realizing he meant her and the pitcher of water over by one of the tables. “I’m not your lass and it looks like your standards for drinks have dropped. What is it with you anyway?”, she asked.

Steve paused, arm halfway stretched to handing her the next book. “What’s up with me?”

“You’re acting like you don’t even miss it? Weren’t you a prince? Like, adoring crowds, people falling over themselves for you, friends for miles. That kind of prince?”

Steve shook his head and handed her the book. “It’s not what you think.”

“Oh come on, don’t be modest. It looks stupid on you.”

His face pinched at that, not liking being called stupid in any capacity and also wondering what Robin meant by that. Before he could ask, she continued, apparently seeing the confusion on his face.

“You’re going to tell me you don’t miss any of that? That you’re fine staying here and being a glorified lackey?”

“I…” Steve had been trying not to think about that place anymore. He didn’t miss it. “I didn’t have a lot of close friends. Not like you’re thinking. No real adoring crowds either.”

“Oh bullshit”, Robin slid down from the ladder. She looked to the water pitcher again before nodding to Steve. “Come on.”

And Steve followed.

Followed until they got to a room he’d never been in. It took Steve a little too long to realize it was Robin’s bedroom. There was a stack of well loved books by the bed. A dartboard with small knives sitting on a table nearby. And a bottle of wine that Robin had already opened.

“Uhh…”, Steve was paused by the door, wondering if he was only just now picking up on something Robin had been putting down all this time.

Robin turned to face him and then realized how it all seemed. Her body jerked like the very idea sent a shock of lightning through her and she nearly dropped the bottle.

“Oh! Shit! Shoot! No! I wasn’t-! We’re drinking! Just as like-I’m mean we’re not friends, but like. I don’t know, it sounded like you wanted to talk and I like gossip and drama but I thought you wouldn’t talk about it sober so…” Robin set the bottle down on the floor and sat down, a mismatched pair of cups already there.

Steve let out a breath. “I would have been terribly flattered.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “You’re not my type. In any way, shape or form.” She sat down right on the floor and poured for both of them.

“You’re at least one of my types, maybe”, Steve said. Robin was beautiful. And funny, and smart, and she knew how to handle the kids but also never took herself too seriously. Just as soon as the idea was put in his head, it was snuffed out. He tried not to think on it too hard as he took that first sip. What he was thinking about was how long it had been since he’d been with anyone. 

“So there’s no one you miss?”, Robin pressed.

“I had, like two friends”, Steve admitted. “They were…we knew each other since we were kids. And we just kind of stayed together. But then we got older and it just got so…” Steve was too sober for this conversation, so he took a sip.

Robin got the message and switched gears. “Alright, what about a sweetheart?”

There were quite a few who could qualify. But none who Steve had thought of while he was locked up. No one in particular he wanted to rush back to. So he just shook his head. Then he took another sip.

“Don’t tell me you’re celibate because I won’t believe it.”

“Why not? I could be celibate if I wanted to, I haven’t had sex a single time since I got here. I haven’t even…”, Steve paused before making a motion with his hand like he was stroking himself. Normally he wouldn’t do such a gesture in front of a lady. But Robin wasn’t just a lady. Plus, she had already seen him naked.

Robin snorted. “You’re acting like that’s a long time. And are you being honest? You haven’t? Even once?”

“I haven’t been in the mood”, Steve shrugged. “And what about you? I haven’t seen you exactly rushing off to cavort.”

“Steve, you only see me a couple hours a day, don’t assume what I’m doing.”

“So are you…?”

Robin huffed, then took a gulp. “No. Not currently, anyway.”

“So we’re both living like monks.” Steve raised his cup.

“My mother would be so proud”, Robin drawled as she raised her own to meet Steve’s.

The way she said it, Steve instantly knew. Of course, he couldn’t know the extent of it, but it sounded like Robin’s mother rarely was proud. He wondered where Robin’s mother was. Wondered where some of the other families were too. Dustin’s mother worked in the castle, but that was about as much as he knew about any of their families. And what of the royal family?

“Hey, is it just Eddie?”

“Is what just Eddie?”

“The royal family. He doesn’t have any relatives? Any heirs?” Steve wondered if that was why he kept wards. To bring up one to take the crown. It was odd of someone his supposed age to have no one. And his own family’s recordings never spoke of any lineage stemming from or to King Edward. 

“He is very much solitary, as far as I know”, Robin said. She took another sip but watched the prince from her rim.

All Steve did was hum in response. “So tell me about this mother of yours. She sounds just as lovely as mine.”

-----------------------

Eddie didn’t like being caught off guard. He always tried to cover himself and make sure he protected those under his wing. So even though the Harringtons had said they were done with Steve, Eddie couldn’t fully believe it until he saw it with his own eyes. Because spring was here and they were too conspicuous, the demobeasts he would allow to remain in hibernation for now.

So he sent birds instead. He sent them to watch over the king and queen and see how they were really taking the absence of their son. He saw Juliana give a few tears one evening, while staring at a painting of what must have been a young Steve. But that was it. There was no official announcement to their people, but it was plain to see that Steve was no longer considered royalty by the court.

With a groan, Eddie cut off the connection between him and the raven, miles away. He rubbed his own actual eyes and then left his study to go and sit with the eager smiles that mirrored his own. It was story time and tonight, Eddie was thinking of throwing a few obstacles in the way, something really to get the kids excited like a tough riddle or even a labyrinth.

He came to one of the more comfortable sitting rooms, drinks and snacks already on the table, each child in their designated spot. But there was a new body floating in the room, standing off to the side like he wasn’t sure which place to sit. Obviously, not in the grand looking chair that was most definitely designated for Eddie.

“What brings you ‘round these parts, my liege?”, Eddie asked.

Steve had an arm across him and shrugged. “I’ve heard so much about your stories, I wanted to hear them for myself.”

The thought made Eddie so giddy that he climbed up onto his chair, squatting on it like a gargoyle while he met Steve’s gaze with a grin. If the prince wanted a show, he would give him the performance of a lifetime.

“Well then”, he settled onto the cushion, legs crossed now. Come take the seat with the best view~”

Steve’s eyes widened, not expecting something so blatantly, well, flirtatious. But he quickly regained his composure. “I’ll be fine right here, thanks.” He took the floor on the other side of the table, able to see all of Eddie and the rest of the kids.

Eddie’s grin didn’t falter and if anything, it deepened. Suddenly, getting the little prince to sit in his lap seemed to be his greatest life’s mission. If only because of how funny it would be. Yeah… funny.

Part 18

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[talkfastromance4]

That's My Girl--Jake Seresin (An Arrangement Series)

a/n: I realize I never stated what the name of the flower shop is called so that will be told here!

An Arrangement Masterlist

Follow here for all updates as I do not have a taglist

word count: 3k

warnings: none

Feedback, asks, comments/reblogs mean the world to me!

Enjoy!

After Reynolds picked you up from work one Friday night, Jake called you and asked if you’d like to meet him at The Hard Deck. Excited to see more of him in his friend group you said yes and Reynolds had no problem driving you there after you changed out of your work clothes at home. 

Reynolds chatted with Rhea while you raced upstairs to change and when you looked at yourself in the mirror, you really wanted to make yourself look nice. You still had leaves in your hair from an arrangement you were working on. After cleaning out the leftover leaves, you used that expensive dry shampoo Jake supplied you, washed your face and did your makeup the way Inez showed you.

You found the perfect outfit; a babydoll type black top, high-waisted light washed jeans and a black belt. Then you found a cute pair of wedges with a black floral design that wrapped around your foot and your outfit was set. Until you saw the leaf earrings winking at you on one of your dressers where your perfume is and you placed them in your ears. 

“Perfect,” you smile at yourself and admire the earrings for a moment longer before descending the stairs. 

“All set?” Reynolds asks.

“Yup. Do you think Jake would mind if I invited Serena and Dom?”

“Not at all. Do we need to pick them up?” He sounds almost hopeful.

“No, they live together so they’ll come together. But,” you touch his forearm, “I’m sure Jake will bring me home so you can drink with us if you’d like. Dom loves tequila sunrises.”

He smiles at that nugget of information and then you’re both out the door. On the way there, Serena texted they’ll meet you in a little over an hour and as you walked up the sandy walkway and through the double doors, you became nervous. There’s a lot of Navy in this bar and you stood on your tiptoes to look for your Navy guy. 

“y/n!” Penny calls from the bar.

Thankful to see a familiar face, you weave through some bodies and give her a hug over the counter. 

“Looks like you’re looking for someone,” she says. 

“I am. Have you seen Jake around?” your eyes scan around her as if he’ll magically appear just by you saying his name. 

“Him and the squad are back the billiards and darts,” Penny nods to her right. “Can I get you anything? I’ll make sure to put it on Hangman’s tab.”

You laugh nervously because you know he wouldn’t want you to pay for your drinks at all.

“Sure. I’ll just have a hard seltzer right now, with a straw please.”

She pops open the can and sticks a straw in it for you and you make your way towards the game area. Jake and Coyote are at the dartboard and Coyote has his hand over Jake’s eyes while Jake tosses his darts. He makes three bullseyes in a row.

“Is there anything you can’t do?” you ask and he whips his head around so fast while Coyote collects the darts. You feel flattered when his eyes glitter over you, a bright smile on his face. 

“Well, don’t you look mighty pretty,” he approaches you and places his hands on your waist. His eyes move to the drink in your hand. “You put that on my tab, right?”

“Yes, Penny knew to,” you nod. “But seriously, are you bad at anything?”

“We’re still trying to figure that one out,” Rooster says behind you. “We wanna find what makes him a sore loser.”

“Never will Rooster, I’m too damn good.”

You can see in his eyes that this is Hangman talking, he’s got a certain err of confidence that’s slightly borderline on cocky.

“Not very humble, are you?” you tease and that makes Rooster snort into his beer. 

When Jake looks at you, that mirth is replaced by the tender softness you’re used to and you know this is Jake. The real him. 

“Sorry, Sugar. The Navy needs the best and drills it into us, hard not to brag. Especially in front of you,” he pokes your nose.

“Can I play?” you point to the dartboard behind him. 

“Need me to show you how?” Jake flirts.

“You toss a dart at a bard, pretty simple,” you shrug. You move out of his arms to take the darts from Coyote. 

“Please beat him, he needs to be knocked down a peg or two,” Coyote encourages.

“There is a certain finesse to it, Sugar,” Jake picks up three other darts and he smirks at you. “I’d be happy to show you.”

“I’ll ask for help if I need it,” you pat his chest and move to the scuffed green tape on the floor signifying where to stand. “Ladies first?”

Coyote moves out of the way and Jake does a slight bow, his right arm extended towards the dart board as if presenting it to you.

“But of course.”

You take turns trailing each other in points but in the end, you get a bullseye and it wins you the game. Rooster and Coyote cheer behind you then run off to find the others. 

“Good job, Sugar,” Jake congratulates as you sip on your drink through your straw. 

“Thank you,” you smile sweetly.

“Did you really beat him?” Phoenix asks impressed. 

“Yeah.” You say and Jake comes up behind you, his fingers tickling your sides making you laugh. “I did.”

Phoenix glances between you two then she cocks her head to the side. 

“You didn’t let her win, did  you?”

“Oh no,” Rooster groans, “You did, didn’t you?”

When Jake doesn’t respond you turn your head to look up at him. He’s drinking his beer slowly and avoiding your eyes.

“Did you let me win?” you ask softly. He still avoids your gaze, shifting uncomfortably against you and you pout. “I want a rematch.”

“Sugar–”

You spin out of his arms and place a hand on your hip. 

“I mean it, don’t hold back.”

“All right,” he relented, “we’ll do a rematch.”

He lets you go first and you do pretty well but then his three bullseyes in a row easily overpowers you. You turn grumpy and Jake grabs your hand. 

“You told me not to hold back.”

“I know, I’m still grumpy because you let me win. Let’s go again.”

You move away from him again, he sighs as you gather the darts and take your position. You suck down the rest of your drink. You end up getting a few bullseyes yourself which impresses Jake. When it’s his turn you watch his stance and the clear focus in his eyes as he aims. 

It’s down to the final points and you plant your feet, square your shoulders and take a deep breath. You relax your arm and toss them quickly in a row, each one landing smack dab in the center. There’s silence behind you and when you turn around they’re all staring at you but Jake is smirking. 

“What just happened?” Rooster asks dumbfounded. 

“She hustled me, that’s what,” Jake grins. He saunters to you, pulls you against him by your hips and kisses you. You smile into his kiss wrapping your own arms around his shoulders and he lifts you off the ground. “Were you on a team or something?”

“No,” you murmur on his lips. “I just don’t think and hope for the best. I’m lucky.”

“Very lucky.”

You continue to kiss until you feel your phone and wrist vibrate from a text. Breaking the kiss, you glance at your watch reading a text from Serena that she and Dom have arrived. 

“Serena and Dom are here,” you tell him and he sets you back down on your feet. “I’ll be right back.” You lean up and give him a quick kiss.

“Drinks are on me, Sugar,” he calls after you.

You find Serena at the bar looking great as she always does and give her a hug.

“Where’s Dom?”

“He got distracted by Reynolds outside,” Serena smirks. 

The two of you order your drinks then she links her pinky with yours and  you lead her towards the back where Jake and his friends are. They’ve gone back to their pool game and you notice the flirtatious look of interest between Serena and Rooster. Jake’s eyes were on you and he sent a wink your way before breaking the balls. 

“I beat Jake at darts, do you want to play?” you ask Serena.

“Sure. Who’s the guy in the Hawaiian shirt?”

“That’s Rooster,” you line up for your shot, squinting one eye shut. 

“He’s hot.”

“I’ll introduce you when they’re done with pool. Don’t want to interrupt their game,” you say and throw a dart. You line up for the next shot.

“Do you think his little rooster lives up to his name?” 

“Serena!” you exclaim and you throw your dart but it smacks a guy in the back of the head a little ways away. “Oh no!”

“Ow! What the–”

You rush over to him already apologizing profusely as he rubs his head and turns around. He smiles at you then picks up the dart.

“Are you okay? I wasn’t aiming for you, I swear!” you fluster out, your voice just shy of panicking. Because of course you would be the one to hit someone with a dart.

“I would hope not, unless we’re in the hunger games or something,” he smiles. “Good thing these aren’t real darts, right?”

“Yeah, I would have felt even worse. This is why I’ll never go axe throwing.”

“You hit people in the head a lot?”

“No, I’d be worried it would fly back and decapitate me,” you shake your head and take the dart back. “I’m sorry again.”

“No blood no foul,” he shrugs then points a finger at you that’s not holding onto his beer bottle, “don’t you work at that flower shop? Rose Window? I’m John B Stokes…my grandpa Roger worked with your Grandpa John?”

The name rings a faint little bell and you’re staring at him trying to place his face.

“We used to play in the circle of their subdivision in the summer?”

“Oh yeah!” you smack your palm against your forehead at finally recognizing him. “We’d sneak freeze pops and draw treasure maps on the driveway. Wow, it’s been a long time, huh?”

“It has. My mom told me you took over the shop after he died, I was sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you, it was very rough the first few years.”

“And how’s Betty?”

“She’s…getting by,” you nod. You don’t want to go into details about her health right now. “I’ll tell her I ran into you. What have you been up to?”

“I own a surf shop along the beach with my buddy, JJ.”

“You always did like to surf, even in my grandparent’s pool.”

“Remember when we climbed that tree….”

“Woah, who’s that over by y/n?” Bradley asks while Jake is lining up for his shot.

“Who?”

“The guy and her hot friend.”

“Serena and Dom, I told ya’ll they were coming,” Jake responds and sinks the red solid in the corner pocket. 

“And you said Dom was gay?”

“Yes,” Jake responds patiently as he lines up again.

“Well, the way this dude’s looking at her says otherwise.”

That catches Jake’s attention and he looks over in your direction from his angle along the pool table. He sees Serena next to you and a guy that is definitely not Dom talking to you. He’s got a hat on backwards and is dressed like a surfer, his tanned face clearly signifies that.

You’re both smiling and laughing with Serena nodding along and piping in now and again. Jake stands up immediately to get a better look. The guy isn’t standing too close to you but he has conflicting feelings because the two of you are still figuring things out together. He trusts you, he really does, but he’s seen how men look at you when you’re out in public. 

Hell, he saw how they all looked at you when you walked into the bar now. And he knows how charming you are–you don’t realize when you are being charming and it draws them in. Like flies to honey and you’re the sweetest bit o’honey there is. You probably don’t even realize the guy is flirting with you, you’re just that nice.

What really stirs the green monster of jealousy inside him is the way the guy is looking at you because it’s the way Jake looks at you. And that just won’t do.

He has four shots left before he wins and he makes a decision to go intervene if you’re still being bothered. He sinks them in record time, winning the game. He picks up his beer bottle and takes a swig.

“We should have called you Hammerhead,” Bradley grumbles, rolling his cue stick on the table. Jake scowls at him. “You know, cause it’s a shark and pool sharks is when–”

“Yeah, I get it Bradshaw,” Jake snaps. 

“Cool, you two done?” Bob asks reaching for Jake’s cue stick.

“Have at it, Bobby,” Jake hands it off a little too roughly. He wants to intervene but he can’t really read the situation properly. 

“What’s got him upset now?” Bob scowls rubbing at his chest. “I thought y/n being around didn’t make you such a dick.”

“Some dude’s talking to his Sugar Pie,” Phoenix appears next to Rooster.

“Uh oh,” Bob sighs, racking the balls back up. 

Serena glances at Jake and gives him a look, her eyebrows raised and glances to the guy you’re talking to.

That’s his cue.

“Excuse me,” Jake makes his way towards you.

When he’s close enough, he rests his hand on your hip, pressing into you.

“Hi Serena,” he greets then curves his head so he can see your face. “He Sugar.”

A testing glance to the guy who is also sizing him up. 

“Jake! This is John B, we grew up and played together. Our grandparents were neighbors,” you explain excitedly.

“Really? That’s nice,” he cocks his head back in a normal position and makes a show of lifting his hand on your hip to John B. “I’m Jake.”

John B takes his hand and it’s a firm grip, both of them squeezing as hard as they can. Jake’s impressed, but only a little. 

“I heard,” John B nods to his service khakis. “Air Force?”

“Naval aviator,” Jake stiffens.

“Damn, that’s badass, man,” John B says. 

“What do you do?”

“I own a surf shop just down the beach. I rent out paddle boats if you’d like to try them sometime,” John B is speaking to you. 

“Those aren’t really safe,” Jake shakes his head.

“I’ve always wanted to try those! Serena, let’s do it sometime,” you say.

“Sugar, I don’t think–”

“And you and Rooster can come, it’ll be a fun double date,” you’re literally bouncing in excitement. Your eyes are wide as you look up at him.

‘Double date’ puffs Jake’s chest up a little, he gives a subtle nod to John B.

“Sure, anything you want Sugar.”

“Come by anytime,” John B says unfazed. “I gotta get back with my friends but it was good to see you again, y/n. And nice meeting you, Serena.”

“You too,” Serena smiles.

“Jake,” John B nods, then he touches your shoulder before heading back to his corner. 

“Did you win at pool?” you ask just as Jake starts leading you back to the others. 

“Of course I did. I think we should introduce Serena and Rooster, don’t you think?”

“Ugh, please! I’m foaming at the mouth,” Serena follows and downs the rest of her drink. 

Once you’re all back with the squad, Bradley stands up from his stool when he sees Serena approaching.

“Serena, this is Roos–”

“Bradley,” he interrupts, clearing his throat. “You can call me Bradley.”

“What if I want to call you Rooster?” Serena smiles.

“That works, call me whatever you want, honey,” he flirts. “Can I get you another one?”

“Please,” Serena grins and leads the way to the bar. Bradley places his hand on the small of her back and they disappear in the crowd. 

“Well, guess we’re chopped liver,” you giggle and hop up onto the stool next to Phoenix. 

“What’s the story with you and John B?” Jake asks, Phoenix winces but he ignores her. 

“What story?” you straighten his collar. He removes your hand so he can lace your fingers together.

“Did you two have a summer romance at one point or something?”

“No? Why would you think that?”

“He was flirting with you, sweetheart.”

“No, he wasn’t,” you shake your head. But when you glance over Jake’s shoulder  you lock eyes with John B and you frown. “Was he?”

“With his eyes, yes, he was,” Jake nods.

“His eyes?” Phoenix snorts.

“Do you mind? We’re having a conversation here, Phoenix,” he snips.

“Hey, you two came by me but I’ll leave. Don’t let your jealousy take over, it’s not a good look, Bagman,” she pats his shoulder as she sidles past him. 

“Wait a minute, you’re jealous that I was talking with him?” you ask and he sighs, his eyes downcast. “Jake?” You place a finger under his chin, lifting it gently.

“Maybe a little. He was looking at you the way I do, I didn’t like it,” he admits. Never in a million years would he think he’d admit to being jealous but you’re altering his code. 

“You wanna know something?” you remove your hand from his and slip your arms around his neck and pull him closer so he’s between your legs. 

“What?”

“I don’t look at anyone else the way I look at you,” you whisper. “Do you know how many women stare at you when we’re together?”

“No, I don’t see anyone but you, darlin’,” he grins.

He’s surprised when you initiate the kiss, your fingers tangling in his hair.

[puffyducks]

DCRC Week #14 (Part 1)

IT'S TRAUMA TIME BABY WHOOO YEAH I LOVE TRAUMA!!! NOT AS IN LIKE. NOT AS IN LIKE THE BAD KIND OF TRAUMA BUT AS IN PKNA #10: TRAUMA YEAH WHOOOO YEAH!!!!!

Raw asf title panel btw. You know you're in for some crazy shit.

Btw everyone this is Gorthan he's like the One singular relevant Evronian that you should know by name. That's for later but just remember that he reads Shakespeare I guess.

SNOOZER ALERT. look at his fuckass slippers.

Btw is it just me or does this guy kinda look like Launchpad. Like Launchpad if he got stuck on an Evronian prison planet I guess.

BIG FUCKING GUY ALERT!!! Also good art alert god ough the cross hatching here...

OH MY GOD IT'S THE KING FROM DARKWING DUCK

Ok so like. I can understand the gang of street Elvis impersonators. But a bunch of guys cosplaying as roman soldiers? What, do the gangs in Duckburg just do LARPing in their free time now???

I mean... can you really BLAME him for thinking you were one of the criminals...

like......

Xerbian?? haha...... uh oh

OF COURSE HE HAS A FUCKING DARTBOARD WITH PK'S FACE ON IT 😭

YEAAAHHHH LET'S RUN HIM OVER

LOVE the creative use of paneling here, having him grab onto the negative space. I wouldn't consider myself an expert on comic book art by any means, but it's always cool to see fun stuff like this!

No it's NOT plain to see, tf are you talking about 😭 what kind of gang brings in a giant fucking shredded purple guy to settle their disputes

Donald has been acting like a tough guy this whole comic but he turned babygirl real quick here

Y'know sometimes I'm hit with like a brief moment of clarity where I realize that I'm sitting and reading a Donald Duck comic about him fighting a giant alien and then having self-critical introspection about what it means to be defeated by fear. And then I'm like "damn that's crazy."

Anyways now he's thinking about getting really buff

OOH YEAH BABY BIG FUCKIN ROBOT TIME!!!

BIG FUCKING ROBOT ALIEN FIGHT YES!!! THIS IS WHAT THE FUCK I CAME HERE FOR!!! THIS IS WHY I STARTED READING THIS SERIESSS

Sorry I'll stop getting insanely fucking excited over this battle but like look at em go!!

Small detail that I really love here is the switch to the more simple paneling style for the flashback portion, reminiscent of the old comics. A nice touch :3

First of all. Rawest comic spread I ever did see. SECOND OF ALL. I think I looked at this photo like 5 different times before I realized that there's a tiny little Uno in the suit lol look at him

:0

Anyways RIP bozo + L + ratio + get Donald Ducked idiot. Trauma literally met one singular guy that broke through his mind powers and he just died instantly (or like I guess he survived and got taken back by the Evronians but like who gaf we're not gonna see him again GOODBYEEE don't let the door hit your ass on the way out)

And of course you all know what time it is... that's right... Angus Tales. yaaay... (ok Angus hate aside I actually do like the Angus Tales comics like they're pretty fun and they have a silly art style that I like)

Never speak to me like that again or I'm filing a restraining order

Why are all these people severely jaundiced

I just TOLD you bro he has jaundice. can't you read

I wanna shame him for being racist but like are any of us really surprised here

THEY MADE HIM GO TO A FURRY CONVENTION

Ok I will in fact be back again later this week to read Donald Duck Twilight. Which I specifically requested be paired with Trauma in the same week because I thought it would be funny 🦇

[tremendum]

twin suns ; your shadow at morning

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part three of the Twin Suns series  ;  prologue  ;  part i ; part ii

pairing: au (canon-divergent), western-inspired Din Djarin x fem!bounty!reader (afab, w use of woman, girl, etc) rating: eventually explicit in future chapters. slow slow burn. (18+. mdni.)  

warnings: canon-typical violence, themes of hunting/being hunted, fear, a brief mention of vomit twice, pretty bad injuries and descriptions of reader's blood/injury,, temporary blindness still, mean!Mando, lots of sand description like anakin would h8 this, slightly possessive themes

synopsis:  “the messenger nods, his expression revealing nothing. 'good. prepare yourselves. the journey is long, and the desert does not forgive hesitation.'” 

word count: 4.7k. 

notes: hii :) silly how i haven't posted in months??? sorry ive been away, just having a hard time rn. but here's part 3, it's still going a bit slow because i love a good slow burn but we're getting to some yummy parts in the next few chapters ;) lmk if ive missed ur tag, i lost my taglist.

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for what may be the first time in years, you don't wake up with a start.

this visit to consciousness is pulled rather slowly from a lone yearning sensation. you're not sure what it is - or if it's even real - a feeling deep in the corner of your brain that urges something along the lines of wake up! wake up! 

and when your brain finally starts to stir, it's with a heaving breath of pain from deep within you, as if someone had taken the spongy material and hurled it against the dartboard of a cantina.

your face twitches against something gritty. oh- there's kriffing sand in your teeth. on your tongue.

it feels heavy, dusty. wake up! 

your eyes open slowly as you let out an exhale into the rusty ground. 

they slide open like dry, grating sandpaper against your tired irises, but to your shock, you're met with nothing - nothing changes, besides a shift from black to mauve. 

in a moment of sheer panic, your head reels upwards from the sand and, despite the screams of protest within your throat, you twist your head around.

wait- wait! you can make out a bit of light. there's... two faint dots in your vision, faint and searing at the same time. 

twin suns. 

you resist the urge to scream or gasp in fear - yet the burning sensation from holding back both still evokes your body to twist slightly from your stomach to your side. it is mere seconds before you are expelling all the remnants of fear and confusion and rage from your stomach to splay across the small mountain ranges of eroded sand carved by wind. 

the ringing in your ears ebb when you can finally make out a squeal, a cry - something between the two - less out of pain or horror, but of concern.

green comes into your mind, for whatever reason - then shortly and likely consequently, the faint realization that you cannot fucking see a thing. 

oh. oh. 

the suns. the miserably lonely nights. stale wind whistling through empty valley corridors. a lonely girl in an abandoned apartment ripped open by the forces of galactic war years ago; blaster at your hip, blades on your thigh. 

unfriendly company. a vision of your own face plastered on a holo just to the side of a Neerok table. 

that strange metal hunter and his little green accomplice. a tickle of excitement in the shadow that followed you for weeks. a cat and mouse game. 

happy hunting, Mando. 

a lasso. the headscarf wrapped around a small baby. the carbonite chamber. 

maker's mother - Maracavanya. 

they'd shot you back down into Tattoine's dunes. 

oh Gods, you're wrecked, with the hunter, back on Tattoine. 

perhaps your eyes roll back into your head as you slump back - no way to know for sure - a gasp of pain from the left side of your skull. you weakly pull a hand to your brow and it's vaguely warm, wet, sticky when it pulls back. oh. 

you wince, your nostrils flaring as you pick up the thick smell of smoke and sharp jetfuel burning. 

kriff, those suns are searing behind your unseeing eyes, your legs are still pins and needles, you're- oh, your face is throbbing dully with the numbing agent. maybe carbonite wasn't the worst thing to happen to you in the last thirty minutes. 

your hands grasp at the ground, handfuls of sand which slip right through your dry fingers as you keel over again, expelling nothing but bile and then after a few moments nothing but choked, burning air that you fight to suck in and out of your lungs. your head doesn't feel right; be it the blindness or the crash? 

the bounty hunter calls your name from far away, as your ears buzz - but the grip you have with your right hand sends a shooting agony through your entire being and a yell of pain ripples through the air. 

crying, after that - the baby. you startled him with your roar of pain. fear strikes you - is he okay? he wasn't strapped in when you crashed, was he? you can't remember.

leathered hands wrap around your chest and for a split, childish moment, your arms twitch; almost as if you were about to grab him back. but it's not an embrace, you chastise your foolish, betraying mind.

the Mandalorian wraps something around you, a rope. around your waist again. 

it clicks in your head, fuzzy from the crash. how'd you even get out of the ship? 

"wh-" you croak, unable to form words as you grapple with your mind for something to ground yourself. "are we back on Tattoine?" you ask, voice much too meek; the blistering heat sure feels like Tattooine. silence, besides a grunt of his own pain from the man who tugs you up onto staggering legs, leading you up through what you imagine is the hull and past the thick burn of smoke that cause you to cough so deep your body starts to sway.  

his hands are sturdy and unforgiving on your upper arm until you're guided to what feels like a cot, a severe absence of light causing your mind to panic, heart beating wildly at the sudden loss of sensory cues. it's all black, now.  

"is..." you sound so unlike yourself it almost knocks you off your feet. "is the child okay?" you ask, throat burning. it's silent for a moment too long and fear strikes down on your heart, assuming the worst.

"yes." the Mandalorian finally confirms. you let out a shaky sight of relief, nodding as your body is then pushed until you sit on weak legs. "if you're going to pass out, try to stay upright." the voice says, unforgiving. 

his footsteps are heavy as he stalks away, your lips screaming silently for water.

a hesitation in the footsteps has your heart thundering in fear, your arms swallowing yourself until you're curled in on your chest. you're too weak to try and protect yourself from him.

the gaze you've come to know is burning though your unseeing eyes; you can almost see that glint of the helmet in your mind. he says nothing, just stares.

you wish he would just leave.

the quiet is so absorbent, it hurts your numb mind. the baritone breaks the silence, again. 

"-and if you're going to throw up again, do it on the durasteel." 

you're not sure how long you sleep for. 

when you wake, you're on your side, slumped against the side of the cot; your neck creaks as you slowly stir upwards, eyes cracking open slowly. 

a peek of light creaks in through the hull as you groan, eyebrows furrowing as far as they can. you're puffy, you can feel it. your brow and temple are swelled and likely bruised. looking down out of habit, you can tell that the aching, searing pain in your hand has only worsened - the numbness of the carbonite chamber wearing down too soon.

you're fucked when it's completely gone, realizing now that not only do you likely have a broken hand and several broken ribs, but that your brow bone is surely chipped, your brain bruised from knocking too much against your skull, and you're right and proper screwed. 

there's a gash on your thigh that has since stopped bleeding, but you're sure if it's not dressed and attended within forty eight hours, you'll succumb to the sand mites that infest the plains outside. you're too busy assessing your injuries to realize it; when you do, you let out a sharp screech, shaking your head as your hands fly up towards your cheeks. 

you can see again - sort of.

light sources peek out at you through a blanket of thick fog. 

it's as if you'd taken semi-translucent paint and slathered it over your retinas - especially in the low light, it's hard to catch anything besides a faint glint and the outline of metallic shapes in the hull. still, it fills you with some sort of giddy elation; perhaps spurred on by your head trauma and the sheer shock of the events, you huff a short laugh to yourself. your fingers on your good hand wiggle slightly, you can see the motion as you wave up at yourself. 

maybe this isn't a permanent blindness, then. 

but a twitch from your bad hand has you gasping in sheer pain, biting down on your lip to keep quiet in fear of stirring the Mandalorian from whatever corner of the ship he lurks in. your stomach flips at the fleeting thought that he could have been there, watching you this whole time in the darker shadows of your sight - and you'd have had no clue. 

your moment of joy is over when reality washes over your entire body: you're stuck with the Mandalorian with a severe disadvantage: sure, his ship is wrecked, but you have impairing injuries and little to no sight. 

he's likely injured, too, but not enough so that he's unable to use a hand - or his brain- like you.

you deftly get to work, your movements like a well oiled machine after months of repairing yourself on your own. you can't shake the creeping fear that the Mandalorian is watching you; you swear a movement from the corner of your limited sight moves and you nearly jump out of your skin. 

if he's there, he doesn't move a muscle as you slowly start to tear at the material of your tunic, ripping the bottom hem until there's one long strip. biting down on your lip, you apply pressure to the points in your hand that you're sure are broken, knowing the better wrapped it is, the better it will be for you.

the hardest thing you can find on the floor near you to bite down on is shoved between your teeth as you swiftly start to push your fingers back, aligning knuckles that'd been sprouting from your hand like gnarled tree branches. 

you groan out anyways - muffled, yes, but only by the long, cool, durable object between your teeth as your head falls against the wall in pain. 

fuck. 

as you assess your wounds in the dark, trying futilely to wipe the blind fog from your eyes, the thoughts swirl around your mind. 

doubt creeps into your head from the cracks in your resolve; because you're not a fool. there's no true way that you could warble your bottom lip a bit, blindly insisting that you were innocent, and the Mandalorian would just fold when faced with an entire ship of pirates who were willing to pay him his entire weight in credits for you. there's no way you were that good. 

so what was it that'd snapped in that emotionless helmet of his that prompted the escape attempt?

the money? the Maracavanya clan is not nearly as trustworthy as whoever casted a puck to the bounty guild for you; he has to feed himself and the child, maybe he really is strapped for cash. sure, the beskar goes for a very pretty pence or two nearly anywhere in the galaxy, but you're also fairly sure there's something very sacrilegious about a Mandalorian selling his own armor. 

so you're the means to an end - not the first time, and probably not the last, given that you somehow escape the Mandalorian's grasp alive.

there's no way, as a rational person, that you can realistically imagine beating the Mandalorian in combat in your current state. he'd throw you down to the sand within seconds; you can try to outsmart him, considering you've been evading him for weeks up until this point, but it will be much more difficult to do so in the middle of the desert plains with such injuries. 

you're fucked. 

and you realize, as you dap away at the wound on your head with a strip of cloth, that if it's the child's mouth you're indirectly feeding by being turned in, then that's an externality you aren't terribly furious about... but the Hunter, on the other hand...

you're feeling less dizzy as you finish doctoring yourself in the dark of your blindness, but the numbing agent is surely wearing off; aches and stings and gasps tear from you as the minutes wear on. you're too weak to stand. water and food would go miles for you right now- maker, if you could just- 

you shift accidentally and a searing pain rips a tearing yelp from your raw throat. the object you'd shoved between your teeth falls with a cland onto the durasteel floors.

your hand flies to stabilize yourself on the object you'd let fall - a vibroblade, the hilt wrapped in a sharply oiled leather and blade serrated; oh. 

at least you'd had the wherewithal to stick the hilt side of the blade between your teeth. thanking your lucky stars, you quickly move to sheath the blade in the waistband of your pants. you'd felt less than whole ever since the Mandalorian had taken your blades; you'd only ever carried a small blaster.

you wonder where he'd discarded them absently - clearly, he was not one to waste a weapon, had he taken yours and added them to his arsenal? a trophy, for one more notch on his ammo-belt? bitterness floods your mouth as your lips shape into a scowl - in a world full of blaster pistols and rifles, you'd preferred a more agile melee skillset when training. it wasn't well equipped for the rolling and harsh isolation of the sandy wilderness; arid and desolate just as the people you've met here. it was much more suited for where you grew up, and maybe you were too.  

nonetheless, this vibroblade feels like coming home and your heart cools as you feel the cold of the blade against your spine. 

"don't." 

you jump out of your skin in shock, hand instinctively flipping the blade until it's concealed up your forearm, the hilt upside down against your palm. 

you resist a growl of irritation at his slinkiness; when did the Mandalorian show up? you crane your neck upwards towards where you'd heard the word, your jaw tightening. "do you have any other words in your vocabulary?" you snap. you feel as though you've said this before.

"give me the blade."

he's not asking- he seems like the kind of man who's never had to ask for anything in his life. you roll your eyes out of habit, shaking your head. 

what are you going to do, anyways? swipe blindly towards a man covered head to toe in impenetrable metal? you have a decent grasp on up and down purely based on gravitational pull. in a moment, you consider spitting, like you were taught to do in the rumbling avalanches of the cold season back home to orient yourself, just to spite him - you bite your tongue in fear of losing a hand lest your spit graces the Mandalorian's sacred armor. 

a moment of panic sends you into a desperate lurch to plead with the Mandalorian. "I don't have a weapon," you insist, "if I could just-"

roughly, his gloved hand pries the blade from your grasp with a harsh tug. "what makes you assume you deserve a weapon? you're my prisoner. just because I didn't freeze you doesn't mean any different."  

his words are final; besides, you're reeling through pain on most surfaces of your body and many spots internally; there was no chance for you to put up a fight, so you drop it.

for a moment you expect him to whirl around and disappear from your faint field of vision - but there's a faint motion; a shine above your eyeline and then too soon, a click. 

kriff. 

you don't have to see to know the click of a safety when you hear one. 

"I'll only ask one more time." the Mandalorian's slow, cold voice crackles through the static of his modulator. "who else is after you?"

you can tell this is not turning out to be the bounty capture he'd anticipated - you feel half triumphant but half regretful. 

upon first instinct, your mouth creaks open to spew some half-planned lie, but knowing better, you just grit out, "why were you after me?" 

he's a statue of a shadow in your faint sight - body large enough to cover most of the cot's lights as he towers over you, staring down the barrel. "what else aren't you telling me?" he asks, voice crackling with danger and frustration. 

defiantly - as if you aren't incapacitated in his broken ship, barely able to breathe without yelping in pain - you sneer back at him. "why do you care?" 

"I'm trying to make sure I don't get shot out of orbit again." he snaps, hips moving as he shifts, blaster still pointed at your forehead. "there are far worse people in the galaxy that could have gotten to you."

who is he to tell you that? he tried to freeze you in carbonite. you can't help as your brows furrow in skepticism, "well, forgive me if I don't take your word for it." your voice drips in sarcasm. 

he shifts, starting to rustle with some blaster pistol on the side table, finally moving his weapon away from you. "you should've told me about the others. I could've prepared better."

a bitter, ironic laugh tumbles from your raw throat, "oh, and what? you would've graciously shared your bounty with me?" you mock, rolling your eyes. his grandiose attitude is grating deep into your nerves. 

the Mandalorian's voice is firm. "I protect my assets. it ensures you're alive to give me what I need." 

your veins light as you hiss, furious: "I'm not some object you can just take!" you snap. you're aching, furious.

you're sick of people in this galaxy stepping their boots over your spine and trading you around. 

"if you're so sure you're not, why do I have this?" he retorts, sarcasm slipping through his mask. 

he tosses a small object just to your side onto the cot and the mere shape of it makes your mouth sour. you don't need to see it to know what it is.

your puck. 

you exhale harshly, feeling angry, cold, in pain, and miserably alone in the universe. once again proved wrong in your short string of optimism of the good in people, you deflate.

"I'm not someone you can deceive. I took this job because it's my Creed, not for personal gain." he adds after your silence.

the tension in the room is palpable - you feel as though you could pass out in any moment, and Maracavanya, the Mandalorian, your old partner... a cell, guards with vibro-clubs,  galactic court - all of it beats down on you, striking freezing fear into your heart.

it is perhaps through this fleeting weakness that you allow yourself a small whisper to him, "you don't understand what's at stake for me." 

"you're right." he says.

he walks away silently, but you can tell he's gone. the words he doesn't say linger still, cold and lonely and harsh in his wake. you close your eyes, knowing only rest could help you heal now - but the unspoken words of the cold man haunt you waking and asleep. 

you're right, I don't understand - and I don't care.

he arrives just as quietly as he did the first time. 

your sight is coming in slowly - it's been hours, likely, of you lying still in the rock-hard cot, staring at the nothingness, willing the sparse bacta spray and ointments you'd kept saved on your person to kick in and relieve you. 

he says your name. 

it startles you. 

you don't dare respond, not nearly bothering to rise and welcome your captor into your (his, your mind reminds you) quarters. he comes in anyways, walking with a stiff, uncomfortable swoop. 

"we have a follower." he states, leaving you to pull up your brows, sitting slowly. your shock must be evident on your face. a sleeve falls over your shoulder as you sniff, "we?" you mock.

he doesn't take the bait, as always; turning on his heels, the man stalks out of the cot, down towards where rusty, hot wind blows sand over the dilapidated entrance to his ship. he must've just returned.

the entrance to the ship had taken just as bad a beating as you; more than once in your miserable moments of recovery you'd wished quite bitterly that the Mandalorian had considered upgrading his ship with the same precious metal shell he wrapped his nearly-unscathed self in.

you have to scramble to follow him, squinting as if it will help your impaired vision. a dark wall of metal moves just out of your field of vision, and you chase it. "where have you been?" you ask then, not nearly as concerned by his first sentence as you are with his sudden arrival. 

when you'd woken, you'd crept out of the small cot, feeling with your hands on the walls to keep you upright and trying to avoid your hips from encountering a spare corner. it was then, with feelings of both relief and anxiety, that you determined he wasn't anywhere on the ship, and neither was the Child. 

"in town." he sounds impatient, urgent. "w-" 

you're shocked. "-you left me alone?" you ask, incredulous as your brows raise. the shine of his beskar can just barely be made out through your blindness. you nearly laugh - at his stupidity, or of the irony that you had your chance to escape and slept through it. 

"the Crest locks from the inside." he retorts. your brows furrow, "what?" 

"when I tell it to, it locks it from the inside." it's clipped, his voiced laced with irritation and a hint of condescension. your blood boils, but he has no time for your mocking tone. 

"listen." he utters, voice closer than you expect - instinctively, you jerk back, widening the space between Mando's helmet and your face. "I was in town buying parts. a man followed me back here - about a click away. saw him in the cantina a while ago, and again at the market the other day. he's been following me, so I led him here. you are to stay on the ship." 

it's the most words you've ever heard from him - if you didn't know any better, you'd think he was doing this to protect you. bitter fear curls into you as your brows furrow under your scarf, twinging in a bit of pain from your healing injuries. he's not protecting you - he's protecting his assets. making sure he's the one to win the prize of your capture. 

and he doesn't seem like the kind of person who keeps as many friends as he does enemies.

it's like clockwork - a slamming noise shuts off whatever retort was building on your lips.

Mando whirls around, whipping his blaster out as he stalks towards the entrance to the broken ship. as quiet as possible, you slide down the rungs behind him, blatantly ignoring his orders; just then, a voice calls out. 

"Mandalorian?" a moment of hesitation in the hunter's shoulders. then, chillingly, you gasp as the voice calls out a second name. 

yours. 

from what your weak eyes can make out, the man standing outside the wreckage of the Razor Crest is a Rodian - his emerald skin contrasting sharply with the desert. you stare in shock from behind the Mandalorian's frame, hoping you're far enough away that the large, multifaceted eyes of the man can't detect you. 

he wears earth-toned robes that blend with the desert surroundings, a testament to his familiarity with the unforgiving terrain; peculiarly, his attire is practical, with layers of fabric offering protection from the twin suns' scorching rays and the harsh winds that sweep across the dunes, but upon his waist, a belt secures a small satchel - and, more bizarrely - and an emblem for the city of Mos Espa.

his movements are deliberate and measured - posture unwavering despite the blaster pointed towards him. a few feet down the ramp from you, the Mandalorian stands vigilant, his beskar armor glistening under the twin suns and reflecting into the sensitive layers of your eyes.

"who are you?" he asks, voice low and chilling. 

the desert winds howl, carrying whispers of the unforgiving sands across the barren dunes of Tatooine and your weak skin tingles against the particles. finally, the man speaks.

"I come on behalf of my master. he requires your presence at his palace."

palace? your bones chill; what palace in this miserable rock would have business with the Mandalorian? his helmeted gaze bores into the messenger, giving you a split moment to take a deep exhale.

"who is your master that he can't come find me himself?" Mando's voice is gravelly, edged with caution, though he lowers his gun with a hesitant recognition in his voice. 

the messenger's eyes flicker, betraying a trace of unease. "not just you. he requests both of you."

your stomach flips. oh, Maker. 

before you can stop yourself, you take a staggering few steps until you're next to the Mandalorian, who gives you a cold stare. 

with your eyes narrowed against the faint sights in front of you, the gears of your mind whir. "and if we refuse to go?" you ask, voice scratchy. fear pounds in your chest like a wild beast needing escape. 

the man folds his hands diplomatically. "the Daimyo has requested your presence at his palace, both of you. he does not extend such invitations lightly - he has his reasons, and you would do well to hear them from his own lips."

oh. oh, kriff. recognition floods through you - a combination of relief and utter fear. 

your brows lift, "the Diamyo?" 

an old friend, your mind whispers, sardonic and teasing. 

a tense silence hangs in the air, broken only by the distant cries of native creatures and a cooing at the Mandalorian's side. a breath of hope is breathed into your chest at the realization that the Diamyo's palace could be just what you need to escape this metal shadow; a shift in the breeze sends your hair around your face and you're soon filled to the brim with anticipation - you need to do this. no matter the danger it entails, what tricks may lie within the halls of the palace... 

it's your only hope. 

out of pure accident, your eyes land on Mando in what is a fleeting glance, a silent conversation that neither of you intended. it's as if both of you know that this meeting could change the course of both of your journeys, somehow - a threatening veil soon placates your mind, knowing the Mandalorian has surely already considered your plans for escape.

with a sigh heavier than the beskar he shrouds himself with, Mando nods. irritation is laced through his voice. "fine. we will go to the palace."

the messenger nods, his expression revealing nothing but a slight air of relief that notches a bit of anxiety into you. "good. prepare yourselves. the journey is long, and the desert does not forgive hesitation."

and with that, the messenger turns and retreats into the unforgiving expanse along with the dying suns, leaving you to face the remnants of Mando's ship and the uncertain path that lay ahead.

the man is long lost to the fading horizon of the desert when slowly, the hunter pulls a pair of cuffs from his belt; your stomach drops as you hang your head in frustration. 

"may I at least use the 'fresher, first?" you snark, sending the cold statue a false smile. you haven't bathed in days - your hair needs a cleanse desperately and you're sure there's more than enough blood, dirt, and grease caked into your skin. 

his grunt is angry as he slams shut the ramp, sealing you into complete blindness in the lack of bright lights. despite his anger, the Mandalorian pulls your incapacitated self into the fresher and slams the door shut. 

as you shower and relish the last moments of what little, bizarre freedom you had since being captured, you wonder if he's still right outside, waiting for you to step out. 

he is.

it's with a pit of misery at the bottom of your stomach that you sit in the corner of the cargo bay with your hands bound together and watch him clean and prepare every single weapon he can fit on his person.

whatever reason the Mandalorian has to listen to the request of the Diamyo, he doesn't tell you. he doesn't do much except run his gloved fingers slowly over the vibroblade you'd tried to steal - the glint of your harsh teeth marks barely detectable to your impaired vision. he sheathes the blade on his hip, to your surprise. a daunting reminder of his power over you.

and as much as you try, you can't ignore the feeling that the fate of your soul is about to rest in the hands of Boba Fett and the mysteries that await you within the walls of his palace. 

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taglist (message to join). @silkiers @leithatnight @totallynotastanacc @afandomidiot @bbyanarchist @clear-your-mind-and-dream @notsosecretspy @djarins-cyare @satireclub @famefoxx @sunnywithachanceofjavi ​

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[flowergirlmiwa]

some thoughts on writing fanfiction and how for me it's just sapphic venting (as opposed to being out of passion for homestuck):

so, tho i kinda sat out 2022 ive written a pretty substantial amount of homestuck fanfiction over the last few years, plus another fic from the year i graduated late from high school (2014) (cw: cishet)

when i got into yuri because of bloom into you (the manga) i was filled with all these sapphic feelings i just had to get out somehow, and my mind drifted to my technically still extant ao3 account. i was relatively comfortable writing something involving nepeta since i had done so much research into writing her last time (i also used to do dumb omegle RP and stuff let's not talk about that--) so i just cast my mind around to find a cute girl to pair her with so that's why i ship fefnep

like i've written dozens of fics basically on me throwing at a dartboard

i'm not that passionate about homestuck right now. it's hussie's magnum opus and i unironically think it's a fantastic thing all around but i'm not passionate about it. so i guess i feel sort of apologetic being a lapsed fangirl but still writing fics for that space.

this is part 1 in my essay series on miwa and impostor syndrome (joke) (unless?)

i was gonna end it there but honestly i feel really limited by this ship. i don't like dream bubbles so you basically just get "i guess they live somewhere on alternia and might hang out idk", sburb (pain) and meteor (just kinda boring) as settings. it's difficult to write some sapphic stories because trolls don't shame each other for their sexuality and gay panic and gay realization stuff just can't happen. idk... i don't really know what else to do, i do still think they're cute together but i struggle. obviously i haven't written too much lately that i i felt like releasing so... yea

and i guess a postscript, i've mostly hung around this nepeta/equius/feferi/eridan bubble and it's comfy and i like the various headcanons i've come up for their dynamics. i also like how nepeta and feferi have done nothing in canon so you basically have to make stuff up for them to have real characterization and that's a fun writing prompt

[girlwiththegreenhat]

have u heard of this ship called "queenkaard" i feel like it'd appeal to you

oh yeah i think i've heard of that ship it's okay i guess i don't really get what the hype is abo- explodes a second time

(also i saw the way you filled out yours It Was Very Nice and i opened photoshop instead of just making Boxes in ms paint 😳 so thank you for the insp i will go back and make the first one pretty later so it will match the rest of them)

is this my opportunity to scream about why queenkaard is so good? this is my opportunity to scream about why queenkaard is so good. even if they have literally exchanged all of like, 12 words thus far In Canon (hence the Better In Fanon box) and i have to base this all PURELY on the speculative 270k long fanfic that exists only in my head. but there are a lot of fun ways to read them, i will Continue to stand by that! they have a lot of different energies and i think all of them work. as for my Favorite one though...

it's about the found family. it really is. it's a slowburn if ever there was one. it's about wanting and finding purpose, it's about having the opportunity to love and have healthy relationships, its about Some Kid getting to have some Good Damn Parents For A Change. or at least, parents that love him and are trying their best, which is more than he had when he just had Parent (1) trying his best and the other guy decided not to try at a job he didn't think he could get fired from. it's about HEALING. it's about two people looking at some Funny Lil Guy and saying "my kid now" and accidentally uncovering the other's Closet Skeletons in the process that all fell out of their pockets when they leaned over to pick him up. it's also about the drama but we'll get to that one in a second,

i cannot talk about queenkaard without briefly bringing up lancer, without him there would Be no queenkaard, their commitment to him is why they hang out in the first place. their relationship, no matter WHAT it is, is based on the foundation that They Are Going To Care For Him. a friendship or romantic relationship is merely a branch off of that. caring for somebody will bring out a certain softness the wider public might not see so easily, because of him they not only form a friendship, but they get to know each other on a personal level Very Quickly. it's because of him that rouxls finds purpose in a place he didn't expect it, and queen gets to be a mom but what does that Mean? she was a mother Figure to noelle and messed that up pretty badly despite her good intentions. this is something else, though. they are all a little broken but still good, finding out what it means to Be a family at all and they have to- will, do it together, and despite being over the worst of it there's still a bit of a bumpy road ahead but these two are not only dedicated to their boys happiness, but each other as well.

i mean c'mon. rouxls is running around looking for somebody to validate him. and of course he crushes and latches onto queen at a somewhat superficial level at first, but beyond her rank and title she can be such a genuinely sweet, kind, funny, thoughtful person!! this boy caught feels and then he Caught Feels. and she latches onto him some too, it's fun to have someone kissing your ass 24/7 but cyber world is SO much different than castle town and card kingdom, she needs… a guide. she already has this little WIP Family she wants to get close to, and i am HERE for former tutorial master/teacher rouxls. she needs to learn some about lancer anyway!! she kinda needs him multiple times over 😳 and yes he's like the biggest loser in town and yes it's a little embarrassing even to her of all people to be Catching Those Feels Right Back, (and it made the transition from Friends to BF/GF Really Clunky And Weird And Confusing, All The Lines Are Blurry Help) but as absolutely unhinged and wackass as he is, he is good to their boy. he is good to her. he is doing his best. and so is she 💙 they are both such strange silly people from very different worlds and i tHINK THEY SHOULD KISS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I HAVEN'T EVEN GOTTEN TO THE TRAUMA PART YET. i said in the last one that sometimes you just need someone who has dealt with the same thing you have? they've both dealt with Spade. literally everyone here has beef with that bastard. there are beautiful Healings And Feelings to be had over making peace with it, understanding each other and moving on. we have hurt and comfort for days. weeks, even. months, perhaps.

also it's extremely funny, The Funniest Ever, that spades exes are both kissing now. like even if i throw out all the Secret Depth these two can come with and just go "yeah but what if his exes were kissing", it's still a god-tier ship. i just hate him and want him to live with the knowledge that his ex boyfriend and ex wife stole his son and are a happy little family of three Without Him.

so yeah it's an okay ship i guess 🤪 i'm normal about it

[starshipsofstarlord]

Hi <3 I'm not sure if you're comfortable writing this but I'll try :) Smth where Buckys girlfriend suffers from a lung illness and normally he supports her whenever she feels bad, but one time he's on a long mission where he cant be there when he struggles breathing. Then the other Avengers at the compound take her to the hospital and call Buck who immediately rushes home to be by your side and it's all cute and fluffy in the end? :) Thank you very much <3

Trapped Air

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary | whilst on a mission, you suffer with your breathing problems, leaving all to panic as you have air trapped in your lungs.

Warnings | breathing problems, angst, mentions of death, swearing, mentions of torture

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

There had been no call back from Bucky; he was on a mission far away, and deep undercover, and the fact that you had no response did not surprise you, however, it was impossible not to feel overcome with worry.

From what you knew, he was somewhere in Austria with Steve, and most likely irritated by the company of Sam. The thought of them together, waiting for further intel made you smile, and so you sat up on the sofa; the place where you had fallen into a rural slumber late the previous evening. That thought also made you lightly snicker to yourself, and had you grasping your chest in agony at the action.

You adjusted your seat on the sofa, kicking the blanket under your legs as you tried to relax your entire body. To subdue the worry for your love that you had and were experiencing, you and Nat had watched a movie, your head running with thoughts of the danger that your boyfriend was possibly under.

It was no doubt that James Buchanan Barnes, the White Wolf and former Winter Soldier was a fine fighter; he had endured and survived wars, achieving victory in the vast majority of his battles. But still, he was nothing more than a man, with a veil of serum coursing through his veins, and whilst it made him much stronger, he was still sustainable to injury, and worse.

Countless times had you seen him braised in bruises, and kissed along the seam of his scars, and though he had lived through decades, and still appeared unscathed considering the circumstances, he was a mortal man, able to die and it was far too clear for your scared eyes that he wouldn’t be able to survive every fall.

An emptiness peeled away inside of you as you placed the phone down, resting your head upon the arm of the sofa of where you had done so priorly. Taking a deep breath, you wheezed, feeling nothing more than internal pain, and it was not just for your longing to see Bucky again. It was indeed something else, a condition that you had grown used to over the years.

It had taken everything from you; the job that you had so well partook in was diminished to being unsuitable for your health. Being an avenger had once been your only purpose, but it had been the one thing that had broken you. From all the rubble and other pesticides that you had breathed in, it had tampered with your lungs, and made you to be nothing more than a victim, a fallen hero.

The worse thing about being fallen in such a way was that you had not died on the job, instead, you were being tormented every time you watched your friends leave the compound, carrying a duffel bag that had all the necessities that they could possibly need for the gruelling months ahead on the missions that they had been sent on.

Knowing that if you weren’t so inwardly broken and that if that were the case, you could have easily accompanied Bucky and the others on their uncover op made you feel worthless, and disposable. As your chest raked the air that surpassed its roots, it waded a feeling through every limb that was attached to you.

Large gulps from the air machine that was beside you usually helped, but as your brought the medically introverted oxygen mask to surround the lower half of your face, the torturous sensation failed to fade. It remained, stuck in the collapse of your airways, refusing to allow air into your defined bloodstream.

The factor alone had you panicking, and as you went to stand, there was a pounding fire coursing through your head. Your eyes got dreary, fluttering as you reached out to grasp for the side of the seating area to stabilise your steps. But it wasn’t enough, all of your weight leant to one side, and a loud and colossal smash echoed through the room.

You helplessly laid there, having no ability to get up, as the shards of the glass table that had tried to break your fall, and had ended up breaking instead, stabbed mercilessly into the canvas of your back. It made you feel like a dartboard, free to the attempts of anything that put a bet on to try. This was your final fall from greatness, and if you weren’t to survive this, that would be o-

“Y/n.” A voice rushed out, as footsteps scrambled to come to your side. The silouhette of a blurry man knelt beside you, sickened with their own scheme of panic. “Nat!” He called out towards the kitchen, you hearing the pitter patter of her assumed footsteps that were toed in competent heels.

“Clint, what happened?” She asked, but giving him a break to compose his answer as she called warily out for FRIDAY, relieved when the AI answered her order. “Get one of Stark’s cars ready to go to the hospital, inform who needs to know. Y/n’s just had a nasty fall, and I assume more.”

“She was like this when I got in here.” Was the archer’s delirious response. His hands raised your head out of the cracked pieces, gently picking the sharp crystals out of your hair. He was sick with worry, he knew that you were touring a difficult road, one that no one else on the team could fathom to understand, but despite all that, he was still there for you, as were the numerous others.

Wearing his priceless suit, Tony rushed into the room, his brown eyes blown wide as he scoped the scene. “She’s losing consciousness.” Nat informed the pair, focusing on how your eyes barely had the strength to stay open. Your breathing was laboured, and the choke emitting from it was audible, making all witnesses wince from the threatening sound.

“My car is ready, on our way to the ER, give Barnes a call.” He held the keys to his vehicle, swinging them around his finger, as he watched Clint and Natasha hoist you up, and support you through the journey to the front of the compound. Nat stroked your hair as she bit back her own tears, combing tenderly through the slightly bloody tresses to soothe her own present anxiety.

The mission was turning out to be a bust, they were tracking Zemo after his great escape; hence why their departure was classified. It was unknown why the once Baron of Sokovia had fled to the country, but all prior intel had supported the idea that he was searching for a partner to help finish his work, if he were to ever get caught by the American government again.

Bucky hated being away from the place that had slowly become his home. It made him feel lost, but if he wanted to remain within said area to continue his life, he had to follow Fury’s orders, or else the panel that had granted him freedom for all his past actions, may happen to change his mind.

The gig of being an avenger was more of Steve’s expertise, he was loved by the country, and had never tried to break its order down piece by piece. Before he was cleared to join the team, and the debate that lead to Steve and Tony siding against one another, he was nothing more than a tense ghost story.

All knew he was real, but most were too scared to admit that the Winter Solider was an assassinating figure in existence. To everyone’s dismay now, following rule number two, he was no longer HYDRA’s pet weapon. He, for the first time in his life, had some kind of clarity on who he was.

His identity, was James Bucky Barnes, the White Wolf, the protector of the world and a renounced ally of Wakanda. And he was happy to be known as such, in a way, the new him cleared his red ledger, and that faded away with that damned red book.

No one had the power to control his mind again, all of his actions were now completely up to him. At first, with the reign over himself, he had been unsure on how to start with this new and invented soldier that he had become. He was no longer taking refuge behind the facade of T’Challa’s country anymore, for he was no a wanted man of the state.

But Sam enjoyed prodding at his ‘cyborg brain’, driving him to certain frustration. Though, it did not matter as much, for he found the peace he had been searching for after that little bit of calm that he had experienced on his hideaway.

You. A retired avenger, that had kicked his ass, and continued to brag about it to this day, when he was under Pierce’s demeaning orders. Though, it saddened him, to have the knowledge that you no longer had the ability to pin him down on a training mat, or throw his best friend’s shield in his silent face.

There was no longer an ignition of strength to fight left within you, you were weak from the condition that had and was holding you hostage in its devastating grasp. The debts of your god deeds had wormed their way through your body, destroying it bit by bit.

Whenever he was away, missing the presence that you had once accompanied him with, he was unable but to do anything but worry about your struggling health. He feared that one day, he would get a call claiming that you had experienced a traumatic accident, and as he sat in the small and cluttered motel room, the vibrancy and life that his phone was off putting had him nervously on edge.

“It’s Fury.” He claimed to his rugged partners, putting the man that had regained control of his empire on loud speaker, awaiting for the patch wearing associate to respond to his acceptance of the call. A moment of silence had him standing, the next, caused him to pace. Steve frowned, well aware that Fury only went silent, and did not barking affirmative orders when something had happened.

That man was an absolute whore for the dramatics, he had even faked his own death on multiple accounts. There was nothing the man could fathom not to do, and this sure as hell, in the name of Goose, was not the first instance he had informed his recruits of shocking factors. Steve remembered when the dark clothed man informed him that he was in the 21st century, and to this day, it remained to be the greatest shock that he had experienced.

The second had got to be the reveal of Bucky’s survival, that heart stopping moment had gone in slow motion, as the soldat whipped his unmasked face around to face his opponents, and he was quickly recognised. You had been there to ease the confusion and the humongous shock that wired his brain. And not to mention, to soothe the wave of emotions, you had prompted at jokes at about kicking his best friend’s fine ass.

That had only been the start to a long road ahead, it had all seemed like your quad of rebelling would go on forever. Sam Wilson was your best friend, and the first to be told of your failure to continue your raids on missions, and to say that he was holding back fountains in his eyes, was a casual understatement. The Falcon had felt angry at himself for not realising the increase in coughs that fled from your sassy mouth, or how quickly you would get tired.

He put some of that blame upon himself, claiming that he should have been the first to notice the signs. It was his idea, before your struggles were revealed to anyone else, to refuse your aid on missions, which lead to conspiracies from the team. For a couple of weeks, the members that you had fought alongside for so long had speculated that you were pregnant,and even Bucky had even began to fall for that idea.

In the end, they had all wished for that to be true, a child would be a gift, whereas instead, you were bestowed with a curse. Sam had offered for you to stay with Sarah and the kids, but upon your insistence, you remained in the compound, organising files and watching cinematic classics for the thousandth time.

But anyone could see, that every time they discussed the missions, of left to endure them, your face fell, appeased by the thought that you’d never share that experience again. They all tried to distract you, Thor had even taken you on a vacation to New Asgard so that you could relax and play video games with Korg, yelling frustratedly at Noobmaster69 as the kid tried to spite your friend and his gaming skills.

That though, had not ended well, and instead, the noise had brought you insufferable pain, and you had to be taken home. But what was home anymore? You hardly felt as though you belonged upon the army of your friends, or the guardians that they were aligned with.

And so, it was very understandable why Bucky was inclined to worry. All his dragged our life, he had watched people die, or awakened from cryo to find them gone, and the split moments that he were required on missions, was another moment that he had lost with you.

He gulped as he waited for Fury to say something, anything! And when he did, he wished that he could go back in time, and stop you from ever having been an avenger. “It’s agent Y/L/N, something has happened...”

It had been hours of no news, and Stark tapped his well dressed foot. He had requested, - no, insisted the best doctors to tend to your internal and external injury, claiming that if your condition was made any worse, he would personally make sure that they never tended to another patient again.

He was not usually one to be so aggressive, but he feared loss, it was a great flaw and attribute of his. Possibly, in some people’s judgemental eyes, he cared too much, but he never thought so. To him, the billionaire was human, no matter what the citizens over the world thought of him.

Sure, he wore an iron suit to protect the world, but beneath all the metal, he had a heart. And he’d be damned sure that he used it, and that it beat for a purpose. Natasha and Clint were either side of him, the assassins on her phone as she read the captain’s well written message.

“They’ve entered the country.” She spoke, referring to Sam, Bucky and Steve. It was a relief that they were going to be here soon, then they’d all look sane in comparison to Barnes. It was doubtful that he was holding himself together well, these hours had been torture to all of them, but he had actually been tortured in multiple gruelling occasions, but it was nothing in comparison to this.

One of the country’s best and devoted doctors opened the door to the room that you were being stabilised in, leading to all eyes waiting outside to stare hopefully at him. It was an intimidating thing, to have three avengers leaving him with one of their owns lives in his hands, he was not a hero. But to them, he was to be, they trusted him and the various recommendations that had suggested that he would be best suited to the deed.

The fact that he was the man in charge in this situation was to be great steak in his career, though, he would never be able to anyone, not even family, that he had saved the life of an avenger. Due to doctor patient confidentially, he was bribed into silence by the philanthropist himself, who was certain that he was fine for paying for the entire service himself.

Money had no importance to Tony, not as his friend was the patient that could have died. The man removed his sunglasses, sternly looking up at the kind doctor with pleading and urgent eyes, wanting to scoop every detail that he could from the eccentric medic. “How is she?”

The doctor gulped, well aware that there was a weight apparent on his shoulders, even when delivering any news. But this, was a whole new experience, he knew that you, the woman hoisted up in the hospital bed, had saved his coursing during the battle of New York. He was grateful, for everything that you had done, but simultaneously, felt the need to be careful with any tactic that he used to save your life.

“Well,” he licked his dry lips, watching as the Black Widow herself stared into his soul, “she’s stable, for now. And it would be okay if one of you went in, she’s currently in the midst of waking up. However, she is going to be unable to give much in the verse of a conversation, the oxygen mask that she’s wearing has to stay on, and it will not be a good if she tries to waste the breath she’s being given to talk.”

He was interrupted by the sound of competent running down the hall, it was as though the men dressed in their gear ignored the no running rule. But it was understandable, seeing as Bucky’s eyes were wild and wide, as he came to a stop and asked what was going on. Clint stood, bracing a hand upon his shoulder, before informing him the details they had just been given. “I think you should be the first to see her.”

Bucky didn’t argue with Clint, and instead, walked into the room, ensuring that he shut the door behind himself. He smiled painfully at the sight; there were so many tubes, and all the surrounding machines were lit up with statistics that he did not understand. Nevertheless, he looked towards the vacant seat beside your bed, and claimed it for his ass that you had once kicked.

Your eyes watched as he looked down upon you, your hands reaching to remove the mask, but he placed his hand upon your own, and replaced them to be upon your chest. “Shush darling, no talking, doctor’s orders.” He spoke, rubbing your cheek with his right hand, feeling the corner of the mask against the inside of his palm.

“Had me so worried doll, thought I was gonna lose you.” At the thought, a grimace presented itself of his woeful face, and to comfort him, you placed your fingers around his own, absentmindedly playing with them as you listened to his sincere voice. “On the way here, I spoke to Shuri, we are going to see if she can help you in anyway, as long as you’re okay with that. Does that sound good baby?”

Fluttering your eyelashes as you looked through their webbed curtain to stare lovingly at him, you nodded your head, ignoring the spiteful pains that emitted from where the glass had shallowly penetrated your scalp. “Alright, I’ll let her know. And I was thinking...” he waited for a moment to continue, being encouraged by the crease between his brow line.

“What if we stay in Wakanda, and we leave all this behind? We can still see people when they visit, and we can just, have some calm to ourselves. No missions, no aliens to fight, and no Zemo to chase. Or I was thinking, we go and live by Sarah, you love those kids, they’re basically your nephews, and we could take boat rides during the middle of the night, and help the people who live there, and...”

At his rambling, you smiled beneath the plastic system that was around your mouth, listening to him talk and talk about your future together. Yes, you missed missions, but you would give all that up for a normal and easy life, with Bucky Barnes.

[sebstanseabass]

Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 1

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Story Description:

❝It's like an afterglow.❞

❝Yes, like an afterglow. If seeing something so beautiful makes you feel good then the after of it all must be... more pleasurable.❞

❝A lot of people tend to miss that detail after sunset. But not you. You're a photographer, y/n. The details in nature, in people, are some things you can never miss.❞

But there's one little detail you had missed, that you both missed: that you've already met years earlier.

You're a 25-year old photographer and part-time bartender, and has heard countless stories about the adventures of your roommate's stepbrother, Bucky Barnes -- a clumsy, party-driven 38-year old businessman. One day, you stumble upon Bucky inside your apartment on a Saturday night that would change both of your lives forever as you both take pleasure in the afterglow.

A/N: I already have this on Wattpad but with a female OC. This is my first ever Bucky Barnes fan fic and I hope you guys like it :)

CHAPTER ONE

"Hey, y/n. I think Nick wants to ask you out on a date." Peter Parker, your roommate, brought his beer bottle towards his mouth. His eyes were fixated somewhere while you were wiping droplets of beer on the countertop. You looked at his face features illuminated by the light from his laptop. "You should really put coasters here, y'know." he added.

"Shut it, Parker," You rolled your eyes at him, "or no more free drinks for you."

"He's into you." He sang and averted his eyes somewhere. You followed his gaze which was on Nick Miller who was talking to some loud blondes on the booth, taking their orders.

"I'm not talking to you anymore." You put your hand up, blocking Peter's face and walked away. You greeted some customers approaching the bar counter. "Good evening, gentlemen, what would you like to drink?"

"Shots of tequila," one replied, "and keep 'em coming, doll!" The other three cheered which you knew annoyed Peter.

The bar was packed tonight. Saturdays were the only days New Yorkers were almost free for a chill drink hangout. College boys hang by the billiards table on the corner, office girls sip their margaritas on one of the booths, thirty-year old women shoot darts on the dartboard as if the board were their husbands, thirty-year old dads with their caps on drinking hard beer on one of the tables, kids who just turned twenty-one ordering their first drink legally, lonely people by the jukebox or on the bar counter telling their sad tales to the bartender and Peter Parker casually drinking beer with a laptop in front of him.

"You really should stop doing your work here on the bar." You approached Peter once more. "You're bumming people out."

Peter raised an eyebrow, his eyes glued on the laptop. "You're bumming me out."

"Seriously, do your business work elsewhere. Go to a coffee place or something. Starbucks isn't that far."

"You know I work better with beer"

"How can I forget?"

You and Peter go way back. You two had met in business school and had been roommates ever since. While you would pull an all-nighter in your shared apartment, Peter would struggle to open the front door, dance around in the living room like he had left feet and threw his final papers on the floor. He'd end up waking up your other roommates, Mickey and Pablo (who would usually join him by the way), leaving poor you cleaning up their mess the next morning. You'd put Peter to bed, seeing as the other morons were incapable of doing so. The next day, Peter's bed would reek of the pungent smell of beer and cigarettes. Though he didn't smoke ("and I never will!"), cigarette smoke disgustingly clung to his clothes and skin, which you found rather unpleasant. Even with all the alcohol in his system, Peter managed to pass all his exams and graduate with flying colors. You hated that.

"I don't get why you drink so much during exam week." You sighed, handing Peter a glass of water. He wasn't an alcoholic but he did turn into one right before midterms and finals start. It was somehow seasonal. According to Peter, it helped him focus. "You're not supposed to drink before a big exam, y'know."

"Hemingway drinks. He writes better when he drinks."

"You're a business major. Not a writer. You don't even read literature."

"Look at you now cleaning other people's messes." Peter chuckled, closing his laptop. You sighed and wiped the counter with much vigor. The four gentlemen from earlier left a pretty big mess toasting shots before they went towards the billiards table.

"Please, this is not the kind of bar you used to go to." You responded, making a gin and tonic. "This is a smoke-free, grope-free, friendly bar. No dancing, no loud stereo music -- just your regular bar where you can relax with your friends after a long day at work."

Peter turned around and tilted his head towards the jukebox. "There's someone dancing right now beside the jukebox."

"Not that kind of dancing." A 20-something year old man was breakdancing to some old beat you've never even heard of.

"Y'know it's really ironic you're working at a bar now. Oh, how you used to hate them."

"It's the only job I can do." You shrugged. "Besides photography, of course. And again, this is not that kind of bar. Think of it like a MacLaren's Pub from that tv show. Kind of funny how it's also just below our apartment building. If only we lived in this building in college, I would've enjoyed bars more."

You once went to one party at a crowded bar where Peter had surprisingly invited you. Writhing bodies pressed up against each other. Body shots from strangers. Toilets that reeked of beer vomit and pee. An "accidental" kiss between you and Peter in the bar that lead into a steamy makeout session as soon as you got in the apartment you both shared. Up to this day, neither of you spoke of that night and perhaps that day wouldn't come -- You really hoped it didn't. Wouldn't want to open a can of worms from the past.

"You're a boring old hag." Peter snorted.

"Hmm, I'd like to disagree. I can make drinks and you can't."

"Oh, you know who can make drinks, though? My stepbrother!"

Ah, yes. His stepbrother. The infamous Bucky Barnes. Born in the upper east side of New York and sadly, out of wedlock. Orphaned at a young age and adopted by a man named Tony Stark who then married Peter's mother. A successful hotel business owner (but not really famous), and the star of Peter's countless stories. Been arrested once for streaking. Got Peter out of detention in high school. Trespassed school premises. TP'd a house during Valentine's Day. Caught naked by a newly-wed in a hotel room. That was just the tip of the iceberg.

"I know. He makes the best bloody drinks of all time." You mimicked Peter the way he would -- insulting and proud -- which he didn't like as he shot dagger-like eyes at you. His expressions changed in a snap.

"Oh, that reminds me. He's in town!"

"I thought he was in Monaco?"

"Yeah, no. He travels a lot."

"Does that mean I now get to meet this famous stepbrother of yours?" You smirked, pulling out shot glasses from one of the cabinets.

"I'm not sure he would want to meet you. You're not exactly in his league."

"You mean snobby and rich?" You laughed while fixing the shot glasses on the counter. "I'm aware."

"I mean classy." He adjusted his tie.

You snickered. "Yeah, all those stories were real classy, Parker. Top-notch."

"You know what I mean, y/n - suits, money, stuff like that. Bucky's changed." One big sip of beer. "I think."

"Ya think?" You scoffed.

"Maybe, I don't know. Haven't spoken to him in a while. He's always traveling and stuff. Hard to keep track of him."

"Sounds to me like he's on a run from the bad guys." You joked which Peter didn't find funny.

"What do you mean?"

Peter idolized Bucky. He was the sole reason why he got into business in the first place -- no, they didn't spend late nights talking in their backyard basketball court about how fulfilling business is and all that crap like brothers would do. Peter just wanted to be like Bucky. To be in the world of money, booze, and then more money. That kind of crap. "It was a joke, Parker. This Bucky sounds like he may have done some stupid stuff but I doubt he's into something illegal or what."

"Yeah, he's a good guy." But even Peter didn't sound convinced of himself. He took a big gulp of his beer.

Nick approached the counter, avoiding your eyes but a smile landed on his lips as soon as he neared you. You could hear Peter chuckling. "Hey, Nick."

Nick acknowledged him by saying a small hello and started preparing a bunch of Bloody Marys for the blonde girls by the booth. Peter watched him, finishing his beer. You gave him a look before walking away to serve some drinks -- which he just mocked in return. With a tray of beer in your right hand, you approached the four gentlemen from before at the billiards table and gave them their drinks. Seeing a couple of girls slide out of one of the booths, you grabbed a washcloth and a bottle spray on the cleaning station and headed to clean the girls' mess. The table reeked of Gin and tonic, Margaritas, Grasshopper, a couple of beers and Long Island Iced Tea. Well, that's a weirdly wild group of friends.

While cleaning up the booth, you glanced up at the printed photographs on the walls which were yours. Black and white portraits of strangers. Flashes of red and blue lights on the streets. Giant buildings. Random people on Central Park and New York streets. Peter drinking beer at the booth with his co-workers. And the owner of the bar who was always cooped up inside his small office. Photos that didn't sell in your exhibit always went to the bar, in hopes that someone might find them somewhat good -- good enough to take home. But that wasn't the case. To them, the photos were just mere decorations at the bar; they just wanted to have a good time and couldn't be bothered to even take one shy glance at the bartender's photos. You wanted to think they just had zero taste when it comes to photography to make yourself feel better but you were wrong. It just made you feel worse.

Just when you were about to turn around, Peter slid into the booth. You almost dropped the things you were holding. "Jesus, Parker."

He looked up at the photos. "Told ya your photos won't sell here."

"That's not what I was thinking." Lie. You walked towards the bar counter with Peter on your tail. He sat once more on the high stool and immensely watched as you placed some glasses on the counter.

"Come work for our company. We could really use your skills for our products." He leaned in, trying to get your attention. It wasn't the first time he tried to convince you to go work for his company.

"For the nth time, I'm no corporate slave."

"You're working at a bar. You make drinks and serve people. Some of these fuckers have corporate jobs as well - like me! If you think about it," he crossed his arms, placing them on top of the counter, "it's kind of like serving these corporations you hate."

With a frown, you asked, "What kind of logic is that?"

"A businessman's logic."

"If that's the case, the corporate world is dead." You smirked, washing the glasses. Peter was no businessman. He was just a part of a sales team, making marketing pitch presentations every week or so. Honestly, you couldn't keep up with his presentations. "I'd be happy to join then."

"Come on, Aria. You can't be juggling two jobs for the rest of your life. You can get one big job at our company and you'll get paid big time. Plus," he leaned in further, almost getting up from the stool, "we'll be working together. Wouldn't that be fun?"

"I'm honestly getting tired of you." You chuckled, sprinkling some water on Peter's face. "And my answer is still no. I don't want to work for your company. I like freelancing and bartending." That wasn't a lie. Despite graduating from business school, you decided to pursue your passion in photography even if the pay couldn't cover your half of the rent. So, you decided to take a waitressing job at the bar just below your apartment, and then started bartending. Out of all the establishments you could've gone to, you chose this very bar because it was the most convenient option of all -- it was just below the apartment. Being a photographer and a part-time bartender weren't exactly the dream you had for yourself but you liked them; nothing gave you more pleasure than taking product photos for small businesses and making drinks for strangers who happen to stumble upon one of the best bars in the Upper West Side.

Peter sighed. "I'm never giving up on you. I'm not a quitter."

"Whatever you say, big guy." Peter had been at it for a few years.

"I hate you." Peter groaned.

"Aren't you the sweetest?"

Peter rolled his eyes and caught a quick glance at the wall clock. "Hey, your shift's almost over. Better hurry up."

"Right. Thanks, Parker." You began placing back the shot glasses on one of the cabinets then hurriedly walked into a small door on the back. You greeted your boss who was just doing some paperworks.

"Hey, Steve. I'm heading out."

"Right, right." Steve looked up from his laptop and removed his specs, placing them on the table.

You gave him a smile and turned to leave but before you could even close the door, Steve called you.

"Yeah?"

"Nick's not gonna be here tomorrow afternoon and I'm gonna be in Long Island for some family reunion. Would you mind checking all the deliveries for tomorrow?"

"Well, what about the others?"

"Ah, they're no good." Steve sighed. "I only trust you and Nick."

You raised an eyebrow. "Nick? Really?" You wouldn't trust Nick with anything -- not even with some dumb, silly secret.

Steve shrugged. "He's a good kid. He and I get along. So, do I get a yes?"

"Yeah, sure. I got nothing going on tomorrow."

"No photography thingy?"

You pursed your lips. "Not unless you want me to take photos for your family reunion."

"No way in hell am I gonna let you meet my family."

"Aw, you said you trust me."

He chuckled and leaned back on his office chair. "Go home, y/n."

You sent him a smile before heading back to the counter to meet Peter who was mindlessly scrolling on his phone. "Let's go, Parker."

You two walked up the steps towards your apartment building, shoulders bumping from time to time. You and Peter lived on the fifth floor. You would've gotten your own place but your parents cut you off since you refused to work for the family supermarket your family owned in Hoboken, New Jersey. The last time you spoke to your parents was almost three years ago, when you threw a huge tantrum like a damn baby at your graduation party. "There's nothing for me here in New Jersey! It's as boring as these two old couples next door. (No offense). I hated business school. I want to pursue photography whether you like it or not. I'm not staying in this hellhole forever."

"You walk out that door, you're out of here forever."

And out you went with only a couple of clothes and some leftover college money. The only sliver of hope you had was Peter.

"Hey, y/n?" Peter asked as soon as you got inside the elevator. "Hypothetically, if Nick asked you out on a date, would you say yes?"

You gave him a weird look after the elevator doors closed before you. "I don't know, man. Never dip the pen in company ink, right?" You fished for your apartment key on your purse. "How are you so sure he's gonna ask me out?"

"He flat out told me that's how." He replied. "Yesterday night. So, if he does ask you..."

"Why are you so invested in my dating life?"

"You have no dating life." He retorted.

Peter was one to talk. He also didn't have one.

"You know what I mean, idiot."

He shrugged. "Just curious."

The elevator doors opened and you both headed towards your apartment unit, with Peter still yapping about Nick this and Nick that. You groaned, getting ultimately tired of hearing Nick's name and the possibility of you and him dating. "Maybe you should date him, Parker."

"You date him."

You gave him a confused look. "Shut up, Parker."

"Wait, you know what? Don't date him. I don't like him for you. He's weird and -- "

"No, I mean it. Shut. Up." You hissed, stopping on your tracks and grabbing Peter by his arm. You were right outside your apartment unit. There was a small gap between the door and the door frame. It seemed like someone broke in..

"What do we do? What do we do?" Peter half-yelled, half-whispered.

"Have the cops on speed dial. If it really is a robbery, call them. Got it?"

"What if they have guns?"

"I'll tell them to shoot you first."

"Gee, thanks for looking after me. Appreciate it."

You smirked, your hands already on the door. Slowly, you pushed it away from your body, failing to make it as quiet as possible as the door creaked against the floorboards. You gently looked around the dark living room, seeing no sign of someone inside -- until your eyes caught something moving on the couch. Your eyes went wide. You went back in the hallway where Peter was standing with his phone in his hand, ready to press the call button.

"Well?" He was waiting for an answer.

"I think someone's crashing on our couch?" Even you looked confused.

"What? Are you sure?"

"Either that or a large animal just broke into our apartment. Come on, let's go see." You whispered, trying not to wake up the uninvited guest.

"I'm not going in there!"

"Fine, I'll wake the bastard up." You groaned. "Pussy."

"Dick." He snickered but zipped his mouth shut as soon as you sent him a glare.

Without a noise, you managed to get closer, using the light from your phone as a guide. On the couch was a huge blanket sprawled across and under that was the rhythmic sound of someone breathing. Your hand lightly trembled, reaching for the blanket to unveil whoever was under it; but before you could even touch a single thread, the person jumped out of the couch, and so did your heart. You let out a scream, falling backwards and hitting your head on one of the small tables beside the couch. The unknown person stood on the couch, and awfully joined your screams. The lights suddenly turned on, with Peter standing by the door.

"Oh my god!" You yelped as soon as you realized the man in front of you was naked. No clothes, no nothing, just bare skin against the cold breeze. Your hands immediately flew to your eyes. "Who the hell are you?" Your screamed at him.

He urged you to remove your hand from your eyes, telling you he was wrapping the blanket around his waist. Thankfully, he wasn't lying.

"Bucky?" Peter breathed, approaching the scene.

"This is Bucky?" You asked in disbelief.

Bucky smiled and jumped off the couch, offering his hand. "Hi, I'm Bucky."

[roosterforme]

Is It Working For You? Part 4 | Rooster x Reader

Welcome back! Just making sure you didn't miss anything Masterlist

Summary: Back at the Hard Deck, Bradley shows off his talents. So what if you're a little jealous, you can handle it, right?

Warnings: angst, fluff, some swears, adult banter, getting more into 18+

Length: 3600

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

"Let me get this straight, you don't want to go out with him, but you want to go to the Hard Deck tonight to see if he's there?" Maria asked you as you shared a takeout dinner in your tiny apartment.

"Yes. Why doesn't that make sense to you?"

"Because it's ridiculous."

"So are you coming with me?" You whined, "Please, please, please. I'll look stupid if I go by myself, and Cam has a date with that guy who works for the financial planner."

Exasperated, Maria tilted her head back and reluctantly agreed. "Fine, but all my drinks go on your tab. And you're not allowed to embarrass me."

And that's how you found yourselves crammed into the Hard Deck at 9:30 on Saturday night. You hadn't realized until you got there that an aircraft carrier had arrived into port earlier that evening, and the place was swarming with crew members and their families.

"Holy shit, we'll never get all the way up to the bar to get a drink at this rate!" Maria complained. "Start throwing elbows."

"Sure," you muttered, head on a swivel, looking for Rooster. Maria just kept nudging you closer and closer to the bar where Penny and Jimmy were looking really frazzled. You and she ended up leaving with four beers and four tequila shots, afraid it might be awhile before you made it back for more.

"There's an empty spot on that ledge!" Maria yelled, and you prayed you could make it that far without wearing any of the tequila. Of course said ledge had a perfect view of the dartboard and Rooster, who had seemingly just arrived for the night. 

You weren't sure if he had seen you yet. Then it struck you that he was perhaps going to keep avoiding you. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought. Since he had his back turned your way, you took the opportunity to take inventory. Wild Hawaiian shirt? Check. Very touchable curly hair? Check. Jeans that were maybe slightly too tight but did lovely things for his butt? Double check. 

"Why can't I meet a nice civilian who has a butt that tight?" you moaned into the beer that Maria handed you. And it wasn't even the beer you usually drank, the same one Bradley preferred as well. It was a weird pilsner and you didn't even really want it.

"You are so transparent in your lust for him, poor Rooster probably can't figure out what he did wrong with you," Maria said as she worked on her own bottle of beer. "I maintain that you deserve to be ignored. And, yes, I know you have your reasons, but you always jump to conclusions. Even Kyle was fun until he wasn't, right? It's never all bad. You never know, you could have a long and happy life with Bradley. A house in the country, some kids, maybe eventually grandkids. He would mow the lawn shirtless, you would bake him pies. A real love story."

You snorted. "Jesus, you sound like my mom."

"Yikes, time for shots then!" You each downed two shots in a row, and it wasn't too long until you started chatting with a friendly sailor and his wife who were next to you at the ledge. You actually managed to lose track of time for a while before checking to see where Bradley had gone.

Over all the noise, you noticed that someone had turned off or unplugged the jukebox. Then you heard the tinkling of piano keys as someone seemed to be warming up to play the old upright piano on the other side of the bar, but there were too many people packed inside for you to see who it was.

That's when you recognized the opening notes to the song. Whoever it was at the piano was playing "Roses" by OutKast. "What the hell?" you whispered, grabbing Maria by the front of her shirt and shaking her. "Can you see who's playing the piano?" 

She pulled your hand away and glared at you. Since she had a good couple inches on your height, you hoped she'd be able to see further than you could. "Okay, just chill out! Oh, it's him. It's Rooster."

Not that you really needed the confirmation. 

He played through the piano intro of the song a few times as you immediately abandoned Maria and trekked through the crowd with your second beer. By the time you got close enough to actually see him, he was stretching his arms wide before pounding out something else altogether.

You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain...

Oh Lord, was that his singing voice?

Too much love drives a man insane...

It was raspy perfection. Like bourbon with a sugary bite to it.

You broke my will, but what a thrill...

The other aviators began to crowd around the piano as you inched a bit closer.

Goodness, gracious, great balls of fire!

Rooster had half the bar chanting along to the last line. Then everyone went completely wild, and you gaped at him as he played, clearly in his element as he entertained everyone. His aviator sunglasses were pushed down slightly lower on his nose and he winked at Phoenix, Bob and the others over the frames. His huge hands absolutely flew over the keys with that same elegant movement you'd already gotten used to from him.

As he finished the final notes at full volume, you caught his eye and a genuine smile crossed his face. You joined everyone in applauding him, even bouncing on your toes a bit in your excitement. 

You wanted him. So. Badly. Your vision was a little bit all over the place, presumably from the tequila or the lust or both. You wondered if it was too late to get him to take you to that place in Del Mar after all. As you waffled back and forth, trying to decide the safest bet here, you noticed not one but two girls approach him where he was standing next to the piano. The jukebox screeched back to life just as your brain screeched to a full stop.

The girl on the right looked a bit like you, something that was very upsetting for your mind to process. And the other one, well she had her hand on his arm. And both of them were wearing clothing that looked like it was painted on. You glanced down at your boat shoes, ripped jeans and plain cotton tee. When you looked back up, Bradley was saying something that had both girls hooting with laughter. 

Oh, you wanted to throw up. In fact, you thought you might.

"Hey, everything okay?" It was Phoenix, cautiously sidling up next to you. You realized you had been standing stricken, motionlessly clutching your beer bottle at chest height for who the hell knew how long. 

Apparently you had a front row ticket to a riveting show called 'You Are Insanely Jealous And You Deserve Every Minute Of This', because not even fifteen feet away, Bradley was smiling at both girls.

"No, everything is bad. Very bad," you told Phoenix. "I am so dumb. God, I'm just terrible at this." Yet you were still unable to move.

"Look, I know he likes you. And honestly, he gets a ton of attention from the locals. This is really typical. It doesn't mean anything."

You turned to look at Phoenix, agony clearly written on your face. "He gets a ton of attention from them?"

"I mean, yeah, all the guys do. And Bradley's obviously pretty easy to look at. And he's nice to everyone, well except Bagman. But I think he would really rather have some attention from you, if I'm being honest here."

Your heart pounded harder as Maria came creeping through the crowds to your other side. "There you are! I couldn't find you, and then I ended up getting us some more shots while I was looking for you." She handed you a double shot of tequila and you downed it immediately, wiping your lips with the backs of your fingers.

And then one of the girls had Bradley's phone in her hand, and it looked like she was about to type in her phone number.

"Fuuuuck," you moaned as you handed your empty shot glass and beer bottle to Phoenix on your way to the piano.

-------------------------------------

Bradley's eyes stalked your every movement as you approached him. He had watched you knock back a shot and was a little nervous that meant you'd be leaving the bar for the night. Now it was like you were moving in slow motion for him. He noticed every toss of your hair and how your tongue peeked out of the corner of your mouth as you walked. The way your tight tee shirt pulled across your chest as you tossed your shoulders back in determination was almost his undoing. You looked just like you had last Saturday night when you spun around on your barstool, ready to put him in his place.

Then suddenly you were a foot in front of him, and he didn't know what to say. He had almost forgotten he had Libby and Charlotte attached to his arms. Or was it Lindsey and Scarlett? He had no idea. 

"Hi," you told him in the steadiest voice you could manage.

"Hey, Y/N," Bradley replied, and to his shock he watched you pull his phone out of Libby's grasp and slap it against his chest, never once taking your eyes off his. Then you let your fingers trail down along every single button on the front of his shirt before clasping your hands in front of yourself.

"You can play piano," you told him, as if he was unaware of that particular talent he possessed.

"Yes, I can."

"You didn't play last weekend."

"No. I was too busy talking to you," he said in a matter of fact voice that had you biting your lip for a second.

"You played 'Roses'," you told him quietly. 

Bradley nodded slowly as he tucked his phone back into his jeans pocket. "I did."

"Why?"

As he hiked his hands up onto his hips, he realized the other girls had vanished and he was more or less alone with you. "Why do you think?"

You shrugged dramatically. "I don't know, Rooster, probably to torture me?"

A startled laugh escaped him. "You think you're the one being tortured here? That's pretty funny. No, Y/N, I played it because I know you like it. And it's been stuck in my head since yesterday."

"It's been stuck in your head?" you asked, seemingly unsure of what else to say.

Bradley yanked his sunglasses off and let them hang from the top of his shirt. "Yeah, of course it has. It's been playing on repeat in my brain. I also can't stop thinking about that weird green hot sauce in the cafeteria that you like. Or how your car is the shittiest thing I've seen in a long time."

You looked down and fumbled with the hem of your shirt, but you were finally smiling. "It has character," you insisted.

"Sweetheart, please look at me," he muttered, and your eyes instantly snapped up again, pupils blown wide. "You're sending me some serious mixed signals here. I don't know what you want me to do. If you want me to stay away from you, just say so."

"I don't want that."

He sighed deeply. "You want to be just friends?" He watched you shrug in the most noncommittal way. "Because friends don't pull the kind of shit that you just did. You told me not to ask you out, then you sent those two girls packing. What's your deal?"

-------------------------------------

You stood before him, speechless. He was not going to let you off the hook easily. You swallowed down the awful feeling in your stomach. Wasn't honesty the best policy? You were so drunk, you weren't sure anymore. "What's my deal? I was incredibly jealous. That's my deal."

You watched Bradley's face for any sign of reaction, but he gave nothing away.

"Why were you jealous?"

"Isn't it obvious?" you muttered, wishing the floor would swallow you whole. Your head was spinning wildly, and you needed to tell Maria that there was no way you'd be able to walk back to your apartment tonight.

"No, Y/N. It is not obvious."

Time to face the music. "Because I like you, that's why. And I'm wildly attracted to you. Jesus, Bradley, how could I not be?"

Bradley shook his head, and it was making you dizzier just watching him. "So many fucking mixed signals," he said under his breath as you took a stumbling step backward. "Are you okay?"

"I think I drank too much," you managed as you tried to take your phone out of your pocket to text Maria. "I don't know where Maria went, but we came here together. I feel awful."

Bradley took you gently by the elbow, and spun you halfway around so you were facing away from him. "She's right over there," he told you, and you tried to look to where he was pointing, his forearm resting on your shoulder. Your head was swimming. "Do you want me to take you home?" he asked, and his sweet, raspy voice in your ear calmed you down.

"Maria and I can get a Lyft," you told him as you leaned back against his chest. This felt so nice, you wanted to curl up into him and fall asleep. Bradley's hand slid down the side of your shoulder, anchoring you to him while he rubbed you gently through your sleeve.

"Is she your roommate?" he asked, his voice rumbling through his chest and soothing your back.

"Mmhmm, she is."

"I'll drive you both home," he said, wrapping his other arm around your waist and leading you toward Maria on the way to the exit.

"Haven't you been drinking?" you asked as you tried to walk as normal as you could.

"Not a single drink tonight."

"Why not?" you asked with a yawn, desperate to keep him talking. You'd missed his voice over the last few days.

"Because I drank most of a bottle of scotch last night after work in hopes I would be able to fall asleep. I thought my liver deserved a night off."

You didn't remember much more after that, other than Maria taking your hand as you felt the cool night air hit your face. And as Bradley buckled you into his front seat, he whispered, "Please don't barf in my Bronco, Sweetheart," next to your cheek.

-----------------------------------

You jolted awake in your bed and sat up quickly. It was sunny in your bedroom and your mouth tasted terrible. "Oh my God, did I throw up in his Bronco?" you croaked to your bedroom walls. Desperate to know what time it was, you gently rolled across your bed to where your phone was charging on the nightstand next to your glasses. Your head was on the verge of imploding, you were certain of that. How much did you drink last night? 

You gingerly slid your glasses onto your nose. It was almost 10:00 on Sunday morning, and all of the other details of the previous evening came slowly flooding back to you. Bradley had played the piano for you. Well, he had played for everyone at the Hard Deck, but in some way, you were certain it had been just for you. And he had been sweet enough to drive you and Maria home, even though you were kind of an ass to him.

You suddenly started laughing and had to grip your head to make the throbbing stop. Had you really taken Bradley's phone away from that girl? You did remember slapping him in the chest with it, too. Add that to the list of things you would never do sober. 

You had handled the situation like you owned him. And he let you do it.  Bradley let you send those girls away without another look in their direction. His attention had firmly been on you. Just you. 

A gentle tapping on your door sent your hungover head into a frenzy. "Yeah?" you croaked and a second later Maria's head poked inside. The smell of breakfast cooking made your stomach churn with hunger and something else unpleasant. 

"Wow, you look terrible."

"I feel worse," you managed. "How much did I drink?"

"Well, I don't think it was necessarily the quantity so much as the tequila itself. Come on, I made you waffles. You'll feel better after you eat."

After you had two full waffles, some fruit and a lot of coffee in your stomach, you were able to converse like a human. 

"Bradley drove us home, and I can barely even remember it. Was he nice to you? Was his car messy? Was he a good driver? Did he use turn signals?"

"Of course, no, pretty good, and yes. Also you'd probably like to know that he carried you inside from his car."

Your eyes went wide. "No!"

Maria nodded as she blew on her mug of coffee. "Yeah, he did. You fell asleep, and he insisted on letting you doze, so he scooped you up like a little baby and carried you to the couch."

"He carried me up three flights of stairs?"

An impressed look settled on Maria's face. "Yes, and let me tell you, your boy wasn't even slightly winded. He looked like he would have happily carried you to Texas if you had told him you wanted to eat BBQ for a midnight snack."

You groaned loudly, a combination of embarrassment over being carried by Bradley and sadness over not being able to remember it. 

"Then after he left," Maria continued, "I managed to coax you into the bathroom to get you ready for bed. It was not easy to change you into pajamas or get you to take your contacts out while you fought with me, so you probably owe me lunch. Tequila makes you... difficult. And I've gotta ask, what are you going to do about your Rooster problem? Because if I saw things correctly from the bar, he ditched not one but two other girls as soon as you demanded his attention."

Indeed. What were you going to do about your Rooster problem?

-------------------------------------

The glimmer of hope that filled Bradley on Saturday night carried him all the way through Sunday. He ran almost seven miles before he noticed any fatigue, and then he lifted weights for an hour. He felt so good, he even went grocery shopping and stocked the small refrigerator in his barracks room. 

You had staked your claim on him. At least it felt that way. You had said you were jealous, and you put your hands on him. And then you snuggled against him, and it had taken every ounce of his self control to keep his lips off your perfect neck. Because now he had a new problem; you had done all of that after you had been drinking.

Bradley needed to get you to talk to him, but he needed to make sure the timing was right. No alcohol, nobody else around, and no bullshit. 

Monday did not prove to be the opportune time for that conversation. The entire day was truly a mess. Bradley had blown up at Maverick in front of an entire room of people, the flight training was a mess, and the team was not getting along. You were also nowhere to be found. Bradley must have looked to where Lieutenant Wilson and Lieutenant Harvey were sitting one time too many, because during a break, they had mercy on him and informed him that you were meeting with your superior officers.

"Do you know what it's about?" Bradley asked them.

"I'm assuming it has something to do with the mission. Y/N is the lead comms tech, so she usually gets updated information first," Cam Harvey said. "She's working really hard to make sure you're as safe as possible. We all are."

"Appreciated," Bradley replied with a nod. But by the time he was showered and leaving for the day, he still hadn't seen you. As he rode the elevator down alone, his phone buzzed with a message from Mav. 

Beach day tomorrow. Meet by the seaside cliffs at 9 am. Dress for fun.

"What the fuck?" Bradley muttered, wondering what the message possibly had to do with the mission.

-----------------------------------

"I need you to implement this into the plan today. I don't know how many more weeks of training we have available before you all get hauled out to that carrier, so this needs to be perfect," Commander Bickel told you as you furiously entered code into the navigation simulation program for the F/A-18 Super Hornets. You had been holed up with him in his office all day. Every tiny bit of new information that was collected needed to be taken into consideration. The mission was too important to miss something and regret it later. Apparently the hillside slopes around the SAMs had initially been miscalculated, and you were currently updating them with satellite imaging. 

The fact that Rooster could be there in person made you strive for perfection. Plus, you actually liked your boss. He was fair and friendly and you respected each other.

'Yes, sir. I'll take care of it."

You worked late into the evening before you were dismissed, but on the way out Bickel told you, "You've been invited to a beach day tomorrow, courtesy of Captain Mitchell. Harvey and Wilson, too."

"Sir?"

"Take the day off tomorrow and enjoy yourself."

---------------------------

Thanks for reading! The next chapter.... oh boy, get excited for it!

Check out Part 5

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[psalloacappella]

SSM21 Day 2. Festival

Pairing:  SasuSaku  Prompt: Festival  Title:  sparks will fly, they ignite our bones Tags:  AU - Modern Setting; First Dates; Wooing Lips burning against his, mouthing soft words in the detonation din.

(In which Sakura has the better aim.)

Ao3 | twt | full series link | @ssskmonth

“It’sa real date this time.” Each word’s punctuated by Naruto’s fist punching his opposite palm, driving home the importance of this. This being:  Street stall smells rich and piquant, a smoky-savory blend; lights flickering in kaleidoscopic, neurotic brilliance; children wild as free foals escaping their parents, weaving in and out of adults’ legs clutching cheap prizes and sparklers —

and him, Sasuke, on an actual fucking date with a woman with cotton-candy-colored locks who has been besting him every game and measure of skill imaginable, and his dumb plus-one buffer, the best friend, now droning on about how he needs to win her something.

“Anything!” Naruto throws his arms up, dramatic and exasperated, the only gearsetting he seems to have. “Teddy bear, ugly fish, keychain — literally any shitty prize to show her yer not a complete waste of time.”

“Sasuke!” Both men snap to, pretending to have been watching the whole time as Sakura jumps up and down, pumping a fist in the air. “I won again!”

With shiny, wide eyes, she places both her palms out in giddy anticipation to receive a stuffed bear donning a baseball cap of the local (terrible) team from a surly booth operator with a permanent frown.

“She’s comin’ this way!”

“I can see that,” Sasuke hisses. “You useless idiot.”

“Did I hear ‘charming wingman?’ ‘Kay, I’m gonna find some food. Give you two some time—”

“Don’t say it—”

“Alone.” Some strange tone aiming for sensual manifests as choking pigeon, and Naruto skips away as Sakura bounds up to Sasuke, smiling so wide he can see every perfect tooth.

“Did you see?” So proud of herself, arms laden with prizes. Some she’s already given away to cute children passing by, perhaps the sole supplier of noisemakers and soft bears. For a doctor in pediatrics, the urge to make smiles comes second nature. “Where’s he going?”

“Food, or something,” Sasuke murmurs, trying not to look as constipated and irritated as he had ten minutes prior — another gem from Naruto’s unasked-for criticism. “He’s left us alone.”

“Finally.” Definitely slipped out by accident, and Sakura grumbles over her mistake, red prickling her cheeks and chest. “Not that I dislike him, of course—”

“I do,” Sasuke says, absolutely deadpan. It takes her a moment.

“Uchiha Sasuke, did you just make your first joke?”

Ears burning in the cool night air, it’s his turn to smother his embarrassment. In lieu of further slip ups, he awkwardly gathers the items in her arms, a mishmash of unidentified thingamajigs and whatnots that you only find in curio shops or carnivals, and gallantly takes on their burden.

“Walk with me?”

So sure his voicebox just sustained a hairline crack; he hates himself for being nervous.

Eyes, hers, brighter than all the psychedelic frenzy swirling around them both, caught up in the haze; she has the uncanny ability to fade the rest to black, toss the entirety of the world’s existence aside.

Seeking to link her arm with his amid the mess of wares won, she succeeds and presses closer.

“I thought I’d die waiting,” she whispers into his sleeve. “I’ve been wanting you to notice me properly all night.”

Meandering, conjoined, down the main road; carved out for the celebration, buffeted by snack scents and other couples, groups of friends, and plenty of pairs pretending they’re still just and only that. Along the way she unloads her many winnings, surreptitious, in part kindly trying to relieve his burden but also calculating the space in her single occupancy apartment.

She watches people and lights, and he watches her.

Sakura’s gaze snags on a particular booth, more specifically a particular prize. Of the stuffed variety.

“Did . . .  something catch your eye?” he asks. Immediately thinks he sounds like an idiot. You know how to woo ‘em, and why does his inner voice sound like Naruto’s on this date, goddamn it —

Burying her cheek into his shoulder, she giggles and it threads beautiful, stringed tension in his throat and spine, symphonic, testing its own flex to see if she can orchestrate the rest of him. He wishes he could spin her around, lift her high in some filmesque climax, kiss her in the closing credits.

“Don’t laugh,” she says, “but I love slugs. Adore them, really. Gross, I know!” She raises her free hand and points directly at a giant stuffed slug on a high shelf behind the booth’s counter. “And honestly, I’d likely keep it in my office; the kids would love it.”

Sasuke knows, from what she’s disclosed, that these are sick kids, too. This ancient, gendered mating ritual is unavoidable and he’ll have to rise to the challenge. He must provide. Stupid, because she outstrips his earnings and likely will the rest of their life.

Says it like a throwaway, like no big deal:  “I’ll have to win it for you, then.”

The game? Aim. Darts. Doable if he’s sober and with equally (un)talented friends; ranging from Shino the sharpshooter to drunk and stumbling Suigetsu, he’s decidedly somewhere in the middle, but it should be enough raw talent to beat a festival game.

Sakura’s eyes are on him, excited. She dances a little from foot to foot, ready to cheer him on.

Dropping the rest of the prizes on the ground and shoving a fistful of coins at the booth operator, he smirks. Born ready, all those forced childhood sports camps and instrument lessons finessing his hand-eye coordination finally stepping up to the plate.

Imagine failing miserably three rounds in a row, the last one bouncing off the dartboard so violently it narrowly misses the sleepy booth operator. Sasuke grinds his teeth, jaw tight, wishing it’d met its mark.

To Sakura’s credit, she’s completely unperturbed. Almost makes it worse.

She pecks him on the cheek, scoring him through hot and fevered where her lips touch.

“Performance anxiety,” she quips, but her smile isn’t unkind. “Let me give it a try.”

Each dart that lands in the board does so with gusto, embeds itself deep into the sisal cork. As each one hits, Sasuke reflects they might as well be piercing him. The most painful blow is watching her indicate the bluebacked slug, winning it outright without his help, and squeezing it half to death in her arms.

They’re walking again, sans the rest of her prizes — left them for the booth operator, and whatever kids wander his way wanting toys with which to annoy their parents.

“You’ve been so quiet,” she says, shifting her slug under one arm and linking up with him again.  Sasuke shrugs against her. “I’m not sure what’s next with us.”

 He stops, figures it’s better to rip that bandaid off now, give her an out so he can save some face. Of course they’ve stopped on some coquettishly romantic bridge, arched over the still summer pond, a popular viewing spot for the night’s end fireworks.

She watches him expectantly, searching him with her sharp green eyes.

“What do you mean?” Her question is slow, puzzled.

What he means to say is something gentile. Instead he says, “You’re great at darts.”

She seems to sway, a physical manifestation of being caught off guard. Laughs. “Surprised me too! But you gave my arms a rest, so they were ready to win.” Curls her arm to indicate muscle, grinning.

Steps closer, melting through an unseen veil of personal space. Cherry scent; smoke.

“Could be all the shots you administer.”

“I guess we can call jabbing kids with needles a calling.” Mirroring him, she steps in too, and there’s not so much space between them anymore. “Good practice. You could come around sometime, see my work.”

Another tiny shuffle.

It’s time to break this. Sasuke inhales deeply, letting it out in measured beats. “Sakura—”

“If you’re mad you couldn’t win this for me,” she interrupts, “you’re being silly. I don’t care about that, you know.”

He tilts his head, and in spite of himself his hand wanders, brushing a stray strand of pink out of her face. “Hm?”

“I don’t,” she repeats, and sets her slug down on the wooden bridge. Breathes deeply before saying in a low, threaded voice, “What I care about is all the waiting.”

Sasuke feels it all fall into place. Oh. Oh.

“So come on, Sasuke.”

And before she’s even finished saying his name he’s kissing her, the last vibrations of his name caught on their lips, locked, and though the timing is perfect and picturesque, film archetype material as the fireworks charge the air around them, each one set off drawing ripple designs in the water beneath them, this thrill is unmatched, the way she wraps her arm around his neck to taste him deeper, the way he lifts her up to rest him on his hips and there’s nothing, has never been anything, quite like this.

Real fireworks pale in comparison.

Lips burning against his, mouthing soft words in the detonation din.

“The perfect end,” she whispers, “to a festival.”

[blueeyedgeorgie]

Belle-W.L

“could I request a will imagine where the reader is mia in his new video? like she's his girlfriend and reacts to all of the things belle got him?”

“can you do a will x reader fic where the reader reacts to the belle delphine box lmao x”

Gif cred. @sdmngifs​

Pairing: WillNE X Reader

Word Count: 2.6k+

Pronouns: She/Her

__________________

Opening the door, Y/n's attention first went to the corner of the room. A giant pink bear sat there with two pink crates, a giant blown up donut, and a canvas with a pink-haired girl holding a gun. Glancing over to Will's desk across the room, her boyfriend sat there, not bothering to look back at her. "What is going on here?" Y/n made her way over to the empty seat next to will, a grin was spread across her face. She was a bit excited about whatever her boyfriend was planning. "That smile is will be gone soon," he hadn't made eye contact with his girlfriend yet. He focused on the camera, leaning in to readjust the lens. "Alright, here's the plan, I'm gonna show you all the stuff by the bear. But first you gotta know, all of it is from Belle Delphine." Y/n's mouth shaped in an 'o',  it made sense from the canvas leaning on Will's table. "I need you to close your eyes for the first surprise," her boyfriend stood up from his seat, making his way from behind Y/n. "Oh no, I'm scared already." Hesitantly, she raised her hands to her face. "This first surprise you shouldn't have to be scared about," Will replied. Y/n could hear Will moving around, the sound of his closet door opened before closing again. "So you're telling me I should be scared of some of Belle's gifts?" "Well... yes and no." "Wait, what does that mean, Will?" Y/n let out a giggle fueled with nervousness. "Alright, open your eyes." Taking her hands away from her face, Y/n took a second to let her eyes readjust before looking to her boyfriend. Will stood there with a stupid grin on his face as he wore a white ahegao hoodie. "Oh wait, that's actually really cool," A smile appeared on her face. "I think I might steal that from you for some Instagram pictures." "Really?" he raised a brow at Y/n's reaction. It was only the first gift, but he knew it would get worse. "Yeah, that with some fishnets and some platform boots, it'd be a look," She brushed her hair back out of her face, a grin still staying on her face. Will took a glance at the camera for a moment before walking off back to his closet. "Am I the only one you're showing this stuff to? Or some other friends?" Y/n turned, watching Will pull the hoodie off himself. "Yeah, I'm just having James, Alex, and George stop by to have them check it out too," as soon as the hoodie was off, Will made his way to the other belongings in the corner of the room. "Alright, here's the next gift." He had picked up a box, bringing it back over to the desk. Getting closer, he revealed the front of the box with a bit of art of Belle on the from. Belle had been making a "shush" motion as the art of her was drawn with her finger over her lips. "Is that Belle Delphine fanart?"Y/n asked as she admired the art. "I have no clue, what do you think is in it?" "Huh, probably more photos of her." "George said the same thing," Will grinned happily, his hand snaking down to open the box. "Great minds think alike." Will paused as Y/n spoke, only making his girlfriend let out a giggle, "Are you gonna keep opening it or not?" "I'm opening it, I'm opening it," he let out a sigh before flipping the top open. A dartboard with Morgz mum's face on it was shown. "That's so cool," Y/n grinned happily. "Are you gonna hang it up somewhere?" "Maybe, I have no clue where I'm gonna put it yet," Will shrugged before closing the box. He made his way back to the corner of gifts. "I'd just like to say Will hasn't let me into his bedroom for the past couple of days because of all the gifts," The h/c girl smiled before looking back at Will as he picked out a new gift. "That looks like a Belle Delphine shrine, doesn't it?" Will had approached with a different box that had the same art sprawled out on top of it. Taking a seat next to Y/n, he handed her the box before quickly snatching up his Go-Pro camera. Taking a glance at Will, Y/n slowly opened the box. As soon as they realized what was sitting in their lap, a giant grin spread across their face another time. A pink BB gun sat there with 'Belle Delphine' written across it. "Can Belle become my sugar mommy?" Y/n spoke as she picked up the gun. Will let out a laugh from his girlfriend's response. "I'm surprised how well you're taking this." "Well, I haven't seen anything too concerning." "Yet." "What?" After taking the BB gun back, Will had returned with something else. A pink machete. "My god, Belle is really preparing you for an apocalypse, isn't she?" "I literally have no clue what I'm going to do with this," Will shrugged, going back to find a safe place to secure the weapon. After the machete, Will had brought the portrait of Belle over to Y/n to give her a moment to admire it. Belle was painted holding a gun as she said 'Subscribe or die.' "Just wondering why you haven't drawn up a canvas like this yet," Will grinned cheekily. "You see, I was gonna say I liked the painting until you made that snarky little comment," Y/n shook her head, her smile disappearing. "But you know what? You want a canvas? I'll give you a canvas. Don't be surprised when one day you walk into your bedroom and you'll see a painting of me covering up your walls." her smile appeared from Will's mouth falling open. "And I'm gonna get one of your friends in so they get the video content before you do." "Alright, that's where you hurt me, Y/n," Will shook his head, walking off with the canvas. "Anyways, I think it's about time we open the crates." As soon as the crate was brought over to Y/n, she opened it. The crate had been filled with all different sorts of things. The first thing Will had pulled out was a pair of cat mittens. "I think these were made for you." "No love, those were made for you." Y/n pushed the mittens towards Will, only for him to put them on. "Looking good." Instead of continuing to go through the crate, Will had brought over the inflatable donut. He had ended up making Y/n wear it while pointing his go-pro camera in her face. "I'm scared," Y/n bit her lip. "Why am I sitting in the donut?" "There's no reason to be scared." Will let out a giggle of excitement mixed with nervousness. "Is Belle gonna pop out of the closet or something?" She looked behind her over to the row of closets in Will's room. Will let out another giggle. "No, no, no. Don't worry about that. But do you think you could smell it?" "What?" "Just smell the donut, Y/n." Keeping eye contact with her boyfriend, Y/n hesitantly leaned in towards the plastic, sniffing it. There was no scent besides the smell of plastic. "There's no smell Will." "Alright, there's another donut. This one smells like an actual donut," Will had brought a smaller donut over to Y/n. "And on the back of it is a YouTube URL." "Oh no... what happened?" Y/n's voice cracked as she moved to take the piece of plastic off of her, "I don't wanna wear this now." Will took a seat next to Y/n, letting out a laugh as he typed in the URL. "The URL leads to a video titled, 'Belle vs Donut.' And the channel is 'Willne and Belle forever'." "It should be Y/n and Belle forever," Y/n gave a mischievous wink at the camera while Will typed in the URL. Her boyfriend had taken a moment to stare into the camera just from hearing that. "Am I gonna lose my girlfriend to my sugar mommy?" "Hopefully." The video had started, revealing Belle had sprayed whipped cream on most of the donut before slipping into the donut from using a children's slide. After she was in the donut she had slapped her head against the donut before the video ended. A moment of silence followed after the video ended. Y/n was a bit speechless for a moment. "...Wow." "I know," Will chuckled with his usual grin reappearing on his face. "You commented 'pog'?" The h/c girl let out a giggle as she scrolled down to the comment section, "You're this channel's only subscriber. That's sad." Will couldn't help but let out some more laughter from Y/n. "Guys, go subscribe to Willne and Belle forever and try to get Belle to change the channel name to  'Y/n and Belle forever'." Will looked into his camera once more with the usual look of disappointment. As Will had gone back to bring the crate back, Y/n quickly scrolled down to the comment section, typing in 'Y/n + Belle forever.' The crate had been reopened, revealing the content inside for a second time. The first thing Will had pulled out was a photo of Belle with a note on the back of it. "Dear WillNE, I hope you enjoy your mystery box! Love from Belle Delphine." "That's sweet," Y/n smiled. "I'm just so confused how you aren't upset," Will placed the photo back down before turning to Y/n. "Oh, the only thing I'm upset about is that she chose to be your sugar mommy over mine." Will had shown off a pink Xbox controller with Belle's name engraved on it. Y/n had found it cool and was a bit jealous she didn't have her own. After the Xbox controller, Will brought out Belle's pet named 'Fluffy.' He was a small crocodile with a ribbon tied around his neck. "Omg, I love him. Could I keep him?" Y/n smiled, taking the crocodile out of Will's hands. "Yeah, I thought he was a real animal when I first opened the crate." Y/n let out a laugh at her boyfriend before they continued on with the rest of the items. Will had brought out a Dive blaster from OverWatch to show off, Y/n really didn't care much for it. Up next, Will had brought out a pair of pink darts with the Britain flag on them. SO the couple had decided to walk over to the dartboard to play a short game. Will had brought out a mug with custom art on it. The art had shown Belle watching WillNE on it, meanwhile a few of Will's friends' videos had been put on the sidebar of recommended videos. "It says Will and Belle forever... wow," Y/n gave a look to the camera before handing the mug back to her boyfriend. Will brought out a polaroid of Belle that had a button connected to it. The button had said, 'send nudes.' "I'm starting to get concerned she's actually trying to steal you from me," Y/n muttered quietly as she stared at the polaroid. Will did feel a bit bad, he knew he had to spoil Y/n some way for her later on to make up for the video. Y/n looked back at the camera before blurting out, "Belle I love you, please date me instead of my boyfriend." Will had swapped out the first crate for another one, this new one being called 'the fanny crate.' He had first pulled out a bowl of cereal, handing it to Y/n. "Oh, that's cute. It says sub to WillNE," Y/n smiled at the bowl. "It might not be what you think it is." "Nevermind." She quickly placed the bowl down, refusing to take a second glance at it. The brunette boy had pulled out a purple teddy bear that had no face, merely a giant black hole for a mouth and prickly white teeth. "Oh, I love him too. Could I also keep him?" The h/c girl grinned, holding the bear close. "Take him, he's scary." Will shook his head, going back into the crate to pull something new out. A syringe of pink glitter appeared in his hands. As soon as Y/n saw it, she blurted out the first thing that came to her mind. "Mikey, could you please edit James in when he says 'Inject this into my fucking veins'?" Y/n let out a giggle as she looked over at the camera. "Don't listen to her Mikey!" "Joke's on you, Mikey likes me." Will had next pulled out a pink condom that had been titled 'Gamer girl condom.' Of course, Will had ended up asking the dumbest question yet. "Could we use it?" "She could've poked holes in it," Y/n shook her head. "You're insane." Will had ended up bringing out a new gift that just happened to make Y/n a bit jealous. A brand new seventh-generation Ipad. The couple had found themselves talking over if Belle had possibly uploaded anything to it. After putting the Ipad away once again, Will had told Y/n to close her eyes once again. "Will, you keep scaring me," Y/n sighed, her face covered with her hands. "Well none of this stuff has been that terrible yet, has it?" "You said 'yet' earlier." "That's because I thought you were gonna be much more upset over the stuff in the crates!" After a moment of shuffling footsteps and silence, Wil spoke up once again, "Reach your hand out." "Oh no," Y/n muttered before hesitantly moving her hand out. It took a few seconds before she felt anything. But as soon as her hand came in contact with something, she flinched. Opening her eyes, Y/n had realized what her hand came in contact with. "She got you a fucking chainsaw?" At this point, Will was grinning like a child who had been spoiled on Christmas. "Gotta protect myself." "From what? Wood?" Y/n raised a brow, a smug smile on her face as she watched Will walk off with his new machine. Soon enough, Will had come back with one last item. A small pink box. Getting into arms reach of Y/n, he quickly handed the box to her, not bothering to take a seat before doing it. Y/n let out a gasp at the sight of the box, could Belle have tried to propose to Will? "I swear if she proposed to you with an engagement ring I'm breaking up with you," shaking her head, Y/n opened the box. A small necklace fell out with a small red crystal connected to it. After taking a moment to admire it, Y/n spoke up. "Will... what is this?" "Blood." "What the fuck?" As quickly as the necklace had been brought out, it had been put away. And just like that, the filming had come to an end. Y/n had stuck around to help Will clean everything up for Alex to show up. By the time they had finished, they had a bit of time before Alex would show up, leaving the couple free time together. "Hey Y/n," Will followed Y/n downstairs. They had planned to watch a bit of TV and cuddle for a bit. "Yes?" "you know I love you, right?" "Of course," Y/n stopped walking, turning to face her boyfriend. "I love you, you know that, right?' "Yeah." "Good," the h/c girl took a seat on the couch, scooting over to give Will room. "You're not mad about Belle?" "Not at all, I get stuff like this happens. Also, Belle is Belle, what do you expect?" She moved over, cuddling up to Will's chest as he moved to hold her close. "God, you're amazing." "I know."

Taglist: @anyasthoughts @multifandom-but @springholland @blondiee-seaveyy @caswinchester2000 @glossystyless 

[buckyskorpion]

11 hours - part six

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: so i was gonna leave this on ANOTHER doozy cliff hanger but i genuinely thought i would get lynched so i decided to just leave it at a baby cliffhanger. a lot happened in this chapter and a lot of seeds have been planted for future chapters..... so lemme know what you think hehe. predictions?? angry letters?? pitchforks??? lemme know!! i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask.

title taken from 11 hours by wet | playlist | please donate to my ko-fi!

masterlist 

“You’re very calm for someone with a gun to their head.”

Honestly, you had been thinking the same thing. Sure, your stomach feels like a snake pit and your hands are sweating and you don’t think you’ve ever been more aware of your own heart beat, but other than that - you don’t understand why you aren’t panicking more. There are three men standing in front of you, one behind, all with guns. They’re wearing matching leather jackets with an octo-head patch on the sleeve, and they all look very scary. Briefly, you wonder if Bucky has a jacket like this, with a patch on to match his family. It’s an irrelevant detail you can’t help but fixate on right now.

Bucky. Hopefully listening on the other end of the phone you have tucked in your back pocket which your kidnappers haven’t been bothered to check yet, thankfully. You flex your wrists against the zip ties holding you to a chair and ask, “Where am I?”

“You should know,” your stalker turned kidnapper says with a condescending sneer. “You followed me here.”

“The Lerna?” you clarify, for the sake of hopefully someone on the other end of your mobile picking it up. You glance around at the old-style bar; chipped wood and beer stains, a rickety pool table one of your stalker’s friends is using as an arm rest. You curl your nose up at it - a little proudly, you note it has nothing on Sam’s bar.

“Do you recognise the place?” your stalker asks. That throws you. You want to ask what he means by that, why you would recognise this gross bar you’ve never stepped foot in, but you clench your teeth and school your face.

Once your dad sat you down in a chair much like this one, in his office at the house you grew up in. You were eleven, maybe, and you didn’t quite understand why he was tying your hands to the back with a necktie but you went along with it. He did this, sometimes - would orchestrate some strange lesson when his nightmares got really bad, his ghosts chasing him inside the house until he saw enemies in lampshades and kitchen cabinets. To keep you safe, he would say, and then he sat opposite you and asked what you would do if anyone ever put you in this position against your will.

“Kroshka, they will use anything against you,” he had said, and you see that now with the way these men are looking at you for any weakness. But you didn’t understand then, you were a kid thinking your dad was spiralling again, so he had cast around until he found a beer bottle on the coffee table. “See, like this. When the label is flat it’s fine, but as soon as one little corner lifts you can’t help it - you have to peel it all the way off. Don’t give them any corners, kroshka.”

You blink, once. The man in front of you scowls when you don’t answer, presses forward into your space in a show of intimidation. You try not to flinch, but that fear you were missing before is starting to set in real fast. What did he mean, do you recognise it? And why the hell are you so prepared for a situation like this, almost as if your dad has been training you for it since you could remember?

“Fine,” your stalker says, his breath fanning over you with how he’s leaning into your space. “Maybe you can answer something else, about your boyfriend.”

“Dunno who you’re talking about,” you say. It’s not a lie - technically, you hadn’t had the ‘boyfriend-girlfriend’ chat with Bucky yet. This man is not appreciative of your loopholes. He grabs your hair and yanks your head back, pressing his glock into your neck. You shiver, both at the pain and the cold of the metal. Through gritted teeth and mild hyperventilation, you say, “As a matter of fact, I dunno who you are either. That’s kinda weird, dontcha think?”

You can practically hear Bucky in your head telling you to shut up, but he’s not here right now. No corners, just like your dad said. Doesn’t mean you can’t try and find some corners of your own.

What you meant as a question to buy some time, with a bit of attitude on the side, sends your stalker reeling back from you. He’s confused, eyebrows drawn down low and his friends behind him look to each other with the same expression. Now, you’re confused as well. Everyone in the room stands (or sits, in your particular predicament) in a pure state of what the fuck is going on. It would be funny, if there wasn’t still a gun to the back of your head.

“You don’t know the patch?” the man asks, gesturing to the sleeve of his jacket. When you don’t respond he continues, slowly, reiterating his question from before but as a statement, “You don’t recognise this place.”

You have zero idea what’s going on, but whatever you’ve said seems have thrown your kidnappers for a bit of a loop, so you decide to roll with it. You say, and hope to god the man standing behind you doesn’t shoot you for it, “I’m starting to think you’ve lost control of this situation, pal.”

From the corner of the room behind you, a familiar husky-toned red head says, “Funny, I was thinking the same thing.”

Shots ring out, shattering the windows as one by one your stalker’s friends drop like dominos. Someone crouches behind you and cuts you lose with a knife, and you hear it clatter to the floor as they launch over the back of your chair feet first into your stalker. Natasha. The flash of her red hair over your shoulder as she sends him flying is unmistakable. You scramble from the chair, fumbling for the knife she dropped but your hand slides through something thick, wet. The man behind you with the gun lies dead, throat slit, his blood now all over your fingers. It mesmerises you in a sickening way, making your stomach turn and your vision go fuzzy.

You’d never seen a dead body before. Now they are all around you, the bar smelling like blood instead of beer and the sound of bullets pinging off glass the only noise other than Natasha grappling with your stalker. She’s so small compared to him but she has her thighs clenched around his throat and he gasps for breath, clawing at her legs. You watch, stunned, as he gets a grip on her and throws her off, sending her crashing into the wall with a groan.

She hits the floor and you see red - all you can think is that’s Bucky’s family and that man is walking towards her, his gun trained on her body as she tries to pull herself to her feet, so you stop thinking at all. You picture the back of your stalker's neck like the dartboard at Sam’s bar and you throw.  

Bullseye. Just like your dad taught you.

The man drops, knife buried in his neck and haemorrhaging blood. He gurgles this awful, awful sound as he clutches at his throat, trying and failing to push the blood back in. Natasha looks from your still outstretched hand, trembling in place, to meet your gaze. You can’t begin to decipher her expression, nor do you want to. You feel like you’re going to throw up, or choke, or scream, or all three. The man you just stabbed in the neck groans in pain, eyes rolling, coughing blood from his mouth in thick clumps. You can’t feel your hands anymore.

The door bangs open and you flinch, stumbling back until you trip on the chair you had been tied to and fall to the floor in a crumple of limbs. It’s Bucky, eyes wild and larger than life with a rage you’ve never seen before. He has a huge sniper-rifle slung over his back as he strides into the bar, stepping right over the writhing body of your stalker.

“I’ll deal with you in a second, Rumlow,” he practically growls, kicking aside the man’s hand that tries to grab for him. You scramble to your feet, practically tripping over yourself to get to Bucky. Doesn’t it say something about you that you run towards the man responsible for the death all around you?

You crash into Bucky hard, the force of the impact knocking the breath right out of you and once it’s gone you can’t get it back. It feels like his arms encompass the entirety of you as he holds you so tight your feet leave the ground. His chest rumbles with words but you can’t hear him, your ears are ringing and your chest is tight because panic attack, you dumbass. You press your face into Bucky’s neck and hope that’s enough to escape the scene unfolding around you.

“Get her out of here, I’ll deal with this,” you hear Natasha say somewhere behind Bucky but you refuse to lift your head to see.

Bucky attempts to pull away from you to look at Natasha, you can feel him try and twist his head but the inarticulate whine that rips from your throat stills the both of you. It’s mildly embarrassing, the sound you’ve just made, but it’s out there now. Bucky shifts his grip so one big palm rubs soothing strokes up and down your spine and you feel yourself becoming boneless with every pass of his hand.

“I’m not fucking lettin’ him get away with this,” Bucky says, low, threatening - if you were this Rumlow guy bleeding out on the ground, you would be afraid.

“And he won’t,” Natasha says, and then like she has to remind Bucky of his own thoughts, “but you have other priorities right now. Get her out of here.”

You feel Bucky nod, his scratchy chin moving against the top of your head. He kisses your temple and holds the back of your skull with one big palm, pressing your face further into his neck. It means you don’t see the carnage of the bar when he moves to place an arm around your shoulder and steer you out the door, stumbling under his guidance on shaky, cotton-fuzzy legs. He’s hurrying you, but as gently as he can. Once you feel the bright burn of sunlight on your skin you pull back from Bucky’s neck, blinking in the now empty street and Bucky’s piercing gaze as he looks down at you.

“Are you with me?” he asks, his hand dropping from your skull to squeeze the side of your neck. You still feel like you’re sipping each breath through a straw but you nod. You can see in his eyes he needs you to be with him right now, to get out of here, so you try and blink away the fuzzies in the corners of your vision and focus on his face.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and christ, now is not the time for that stinging pressure behind your eyes you hate so much. You hope Bucky understands - sorry for not listening to him, sorry for getting you both into this mess, sorry for not being strong when he needs you to be.

Bucky shakes his head vehemently, tugs you in harsh and strong by the grip he has on your neck to press a bruising kiss to your forehead. Your eyes flutter close at the fierce way he holds you, presses emotion into your skin like the tattoos littering his skin - a brand of your own, in the middle of this eerily empty street with the blood of strange men on both your hands. The thought makes you shake, so you twist your fingers in the hem of Bucky’s t-shirt and breathe him in deep.

“I’m sorry, doll,” he says, then pulls away from you. He grabs one of your hands from out under his shirt and links your fingers, beginning to drag you down the street. Looking back over his shoulder, he says with a grimace, “We gotta go.”

He leads you to his bike, squeezed between a brick wall and a dumpster in a side alley a block away from The Lerna. It roars to life before you’ve properly swung yourself on the back, and you aren’t bothering with helmets this time as Bucky eases the bike out from it’s tight spot with unsettling ease. All you can do is hold on tight and close your eyes as Bucky leads you away, weaving through the city in nonsensical loops before you feel the air open up around you and the familiar sounds of Brooklyn.

Bucky takes you to Steve’s tattoo in Red Hook, the first time you’re been back there since that fateful run-in with Natasha. You’ve checked out completely by the time Bucky parks - he has to lift you off the back of the bike because your legs won’t work, and he all but carries you inside. Steve is quick to rid the shop of the two customers looking at designs out front as Bucky settles you on the couch by the tattoo beds. You sink into the faded red leather without feeling a thing. Distantly, you notice the kid who usually mans the tills looking at you like you’ve grown a second head, and you suppose you deserve that.

“Stevie, I think she’s in shock,” you hear Bucky say, and the childhood nickname makes you smile. You watch Bucky’s face crease up deep concern at the dreamy look on your face, so you suppose you should stop smiling like a crazy person. A giant blonde head swims into your view, just as concerned, and he drapes a blanket around your shoulders.

“Bucky,” you say, your eyebrows drawing down as you fumble for his hand. He squeezes your fingers and mumbles something to Steve who leaves you again, his voice mingling with the kid’s somewhere over Bucky’s shoulder but you can’t focus on that. All you can do is swim in the back of Bucky’s too-deep stare and say, “I killed him.”

“No, no,” he says, shifting closer between your thighs as he kneels on the floor in front of you. This would be funny to you in any other moment, something to tease him for as he takes both your hands in his and squeezes them together, silently imploring you to stay looking at him. He says, “That’s not on you, sweetheart, it ain’t. You didn’t kill him.”

You’re crying now, properly, which you suppose is a good sign because you don’t think people in shock can cry. You watch as something cracks in Bucky’s eyes as he watches you break apart, but you can’t stop now you’ve started. You say, “I did, I killed him. How do you do it? How do you just- I feel like my throat’s gonna close up. How do you live past this?”

Bucky’s face darkens, smoothing out to something stone cold and frightening. You don’t feel scared, though, as he leans into your space so close you almost feel cross-eyed trying to stay glued to the blue of his eyes. He searches your face for something and says, no room for argument, “You did not kill that bastard, you hear me?”

“But-“

“No,” he says, simply, and that’s that. “The only reason you were in that position is because of me, doll, so no. You didn’t kill him. It’s on me, and I live with that so you don’t have to. You got that? You don’t ever have to live with that.”

You don’t know how he makes you feel like he’s physically reached into your chest and pulled out your guilt through your throat, but he does. You can see it clenched tight in his fist, his eyes shuttering down dark as he shoves it between his own teeth to hold. It’s too soon for the feelings clawing at your ribcage but you feel them just the same, that cigarette burn he left on your heart aching so bad you could scream from it. You extract a hand from his to run down his cheek, along his jaw, cupping his face in your palm. He closes his eyes, shudders as though swallowing down the guilt for the both of you.

I love you for that, you think to the soft flutter of his eyelashes against his cheeks. I’ll love you forever for that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Natasha returns to the shop, and Sam bundles in not long after that, the four bikers sit around Steve’s prematurely closed tattoo shop and have a family meeting. You can’t help but feel like the kid who’s stayed up past their bedtime to try and hang with the adults, the words flying over their head and sleep pulling at their eyelids but they fight to stay awake anyway. Bucky pulls your head into his lap as he sits on the couch beside you, so you lie there and let him stroke your hair while they discuss what happened over the past two hours.

Two hours, and that’s all it’s taken for your whole world to spin on it’s axis. You’d learnt to throw knives at tree trunks with your dad as a fun, albeit unconventional after-school activity. And now you’ve buried a knife in someone’s neck, you’ve been kidnapped and tied to a chair and watched Bucky gun down men from a rooftop with his sniper rifle. He pulled the trigger with the same fingers he’s carding through your hair now, nails scratching at your scalp in a way that makes your toes tingle. How is that at all ok?

“We’ve started a turf war with Hydra, now,” Sam is saying, sitting backwards on a chair facing Bucky and spreading his hands out in a placating gesture as Bucky bristles. “It was unavoidable, alright, I’m just saying.”

“Not necessarily,” Natasha says. “Rumlow has had a vendetta against Bucky for years. He could’ve been acting alone.”

“It is strange we haven’t heard anything from Pierce,” Steve says thoughtfully. He is pressing an icepack to Natasha’s back, already bruising from where this Rumlow guy threw her into the wall. She’s lifting up her t-shirt and you can see a glimpse of a back piece standing out stark against her pale skin. Giant, feathered wings and a talon, a mosaic piece of what looks like a large hawk spanning the length of her spine.

“When Pierce finds out it was us that shot up his bar, though,” Sam says, making meaningful eyebrow movements to the group. They all nod thoughtfully and fall into silence.

None of these names make much sense to you - Hydra, Pierce, even Rumlow who you’ve gathered by now was your stalker. Was, because he’s dead now, and the thought turns your mouth dry and rusted. You shift in discomfort, drawing Bucky’s attention down to you as he gives you a concerned once over. He had done a thorough analysis for any injuries, even after you’d assured him you were fine, but you can tell he’s still unconvinced.

Unfortunately for you, all your wounds appear to be mental. They’re getting deeper by the second.

“I keep thinking,” you say to Bucky, “why was he so surprised I didn’t know where I was? Or who they were?”

“Hydra is our biggest rival,” Bucky says, and huffs a laugh at your crinkly brow so he clarifies, “They’re another gang, one we’ve had a lot of run-ins with. Rumlow especially. He wasn’t our biggest fan.”

“So he expected you to have told me about him, and Hydra,” you say, the name unfamiliar on your tongue. He nods, and you have to ask, “Why didn’t you?”

Bucky frowns at that. “I already told you - the more you know, the more dangerous it is.”

“And I already told you, no secrets,” you say, frowning just as deep. A beat passes and Bucky doesn’t budge, just glares down at you like he can physically bore his opinion into your brain and make it yours. Exasperated, you say, “Bucky, it didn’t matter anyway - the danger found me. Telling me things like that isn’t going to make a difference.”

“It would’ve if you’d listened to me and not done the stupid thing,” Bucky says, raising his eyebrows. He may have a point, but you aren’t going to back down that easily. Bucky knows you, he knows if you see a loose thread you’re going to pull it. The fact he thought you’d listen to him tell you what to do at all is laughable.

“This gang is your life,” you say, and you don’t bother to hide your frustration now, “They’re your family. I’m no safer not knowing what’s going on - I got stalked and kidnapped regardless. Clearly, it’s dangerous no matter what, so just tell me, Bucky. Whatever it is.”

Bucky stares at you for a long time. Steve, Natasha, Sam - they cease to exist in this room with you. Those first few weeks, when you refused to stay the night in Bucky’s bed and would only see him to fuck - you used to be scared of looking into those eyes for too long, for fear of getting lost. Now you dive head first, a part of you hoping you do get lost so you never have to find your way back out again.

Eventually, Bucky clenches his jaw tight and says, “You’re right.”

You blink, surprised. You hear Sam whisper to Steve, “did you record that?”, and honestly, you wanna ask the same thing. Except the way Bucky is look at you- dread curls thick and choking in your gut. You look up at Bucky and he seem so far away, out of reach even though you feel him all around you. He continues stroking your hair but it’s absentminded, his mind far away too.

You are drawn back to the tattoo shop by Sam saying, “I gotta say, Barnes, your girl is smart as hell. Keeping your phone on you and out-smarting Rumlow in a hostage situation? Pretty badass.”

Bucky smiles briefly down at you, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. You turn to Sam and say, “I got the impression out-smarting Rumlow isn’t really that hard.”

Everyone laughs at that, even Bucky, and it clears away some of the dread eating away at your stomach. But it’s still there, acidic and bubbling no matter what you do to smother it.

Eventually, they grow tired of talking in circles about Rumlow and Hydra and the possibility of the feds showing up (Bucky assures everyone the cops will find no rifling on the bullets and won’t be able to pin them to the crime scene, but Sam mutters heard that before and an argument erupts about some debacle in Bucharest so you tune out). Bucky takes you back to his apartment, tucked securely in his leather jacket in the best kind of shock blanket you could ever ask for.

For the first time, you noticed the tiny embroidered star on the sleeve of his jacket. You wonder if all Bucky’s friends have the same star on their jackets, because they’re not just friends, they’re a gang. One you feel suddenly, irrevocably intertwined with since they’re the only reason you aren’t sitting in a jail cell for murdering someone.

You feel jittery as you walk into Bucky’s apartment, almost nervous. It looks the same as this morning, the coffee cups you used for Steve and Bucky still in the sink and hoodie of his you’d worn last night draped over a chair. But everything is different, now. It’s all changed, there’s weird new shadows over everything long after Bucky turns on the light. You linger in the doorway to Bucky’s bedroom while he rummages around for sweats and jumpers, laying out a pair for you before he begins changing himself. He shucks off his t-shirt and you see his tattoo sleeve, the mottled scars hiding underneath, and your heart flies out of your throat before you can stop it.

“So do you guys have a fun, spooky name like Hydra or what?” you ask, closing your eyes with a grimace as soon as you ask the question. What are you, twelve? Bucky doesn’t answer and you’re too afraid to open your eyes too see the look on his face.

You’re startled when you feel him kiss your cheek, sensing his large frame towering over you and blocking out some of the soft bedroom light. You open your eyes to find him smiling down at you, laughing at you with his eyes as he says, “Not so spooky. Steve named us, he called us the Howling Commandos. The HC, for short.”

You crinkle your nose up at him and he flicks the tip with his ringed fingers. You say, “That’s very old-fashioned.”

“Nat teases him for it all the time,” he says, “She calls us her barbershop quartet.”

You smile, imagining Bucky in suspenders playing the accordion, and say, “Now that I like.”

The longer Bucky looks at you the more sober he becomes, mouth becoming pinched and jaw muscle ticking. He holds you soft by the biceps and walks you back until you hit the wall, still gentle, but bracketing you in now so all you can see is the weight of whatever complicated thing is running across Bucky’s face.

“You scared the fucking shit out of me today,” he says. He shifts, grips your jaw tight so his rings dig into your skin with none of the gentleness of before - he means this. “Never do that again.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, twisting in his tight grip to press a kiss to his fingertips. He softens, allows you to pull him in flush against you by his waist, his bare skin so warm under your hands. “And, thank you. I don’t- I guess I’ve never had someone come save me before, I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t thank me,” Bucky says, shaking his head. He kisses you, a rough press of chapped lips against yours and is gone again before you can react. Says, “I’m sorry, too.”

“Come back,” you say with a pout, and you have just enough time to see Bucky smirk down at you before he’s kissing you again. It’s just as fierce, almost painful, but the rough slide of it distracts from the burn in your chest and your racing thoughts like razorblades. You lick into his mouth, chasing away the ghosts nipping at your heels, and he presses you back into the wall with a thunk hard enough to leave a bruise on your tailbone tomorrow. You don’t care. It feels good to hurt in a way that’s physical.

The ease with which Bucky picks you up makes your head spin. It’s all you can do but pepper kisses along his stubbled jaw as he carries you to the bed, lips suddenly ripped from his skin as he dumps you on the covers. He is quick to follow, squashing you down with his tongue in your mouth before you can take another breath. This, you know. All the messy feelings and heartache and fearfearfear that beats in time with your heart, that maybe you’ll lose him or he’ll lose you and you came so close today, is unfamiliar to the both of you. But arching your back off the bed so he can take your shirt off, scrubbing your fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck as he peppers kisses across your tits with a trail of goosebumps left behind - this is how you know Bucky best.

He makes quick work of your clothes and you fumble with his jeans, laughing into his mouth as he bats your hand away to do it for you. Bucky bites your bottom lip in playful admonishment and you chase his mouth as he tries to pull away. He places one big palm on your clavicle and pushes down, holding you against the bed. He shakes his head at you with a smile.

“Stay,” he says like he would to a dog, grinning wide as you glare at him. But you do as you’re told as he leans over you to grab a condom with his left arm. Maybe you bend the rules a little to trail kisses up the bits of his outstretched forearm you can reach. Over a shadowy skull, the stem of a rose, what looks like military windings near the crook of his elbow and tiny handwritten letters that spell S N S. Sam Nat Steve, because Bucky might be a tough guy to most but he’s a giant sap deep down.

Bucky shudders at your touch, and it makes you wonder if the scarring under his tattoos is extra sensitive. Or maybe he is just sensitive to anyone touching him in such a vulnerable place. You flick your eyes up to watch him watch you, lip drawn between his teeth and a dent between his eyebrows you ache to soothe if he wasn’t still holding you down. You don’t stop, even though he looks physically pained with every brush of your lips against his skin. You trace the edges of another small wolf with your tongue, like the ones on his chestpiece, and watch as his eyes flutter closed when you get close to the paper-thin skin of his inner wrist.

That hits Bucky’s limit. Suddenly his hand on your chest slides up to your neck and he’s leaning over you, left arm braced by your head and his mouth swallowing yours. You groan against his lips at the rough drag of his hands down your sides, gripping your waist tight enough to bruise. He makes your brain go fuzzy, the only coherent thoughts being Bucky and touch me more. He seems to understand. His fingers find your clit, smoothing slow circles which spark embers in the pit of your stomach. Bucky’s mouth falls open as yours does, as if to breath in the whine he draws from you.

“Fuck, you always sound so good,” Bucky groans. He buries his face into the side of your neck, taking advantage of your thigh trapped between his legs to rut against you while he continues playing with your clit. Every time Bucky gets filthy with you it’s like the first time, shocking and almost embarrassing in the sexiest way possible. Heat floods your cheeks and makes you lightheaded, unable to stop the moan he draws from you. You’re rewarded by Bucky’s teeth in your neck, the sensitive spot just over your pulse point, and if you’re being honest you could come just from this.

Bucky’s cock growing harder against your thigh, as his hips shift in rhythm with the circles he draws on your clit, becomes too difficult to ignore. To gain his attention you twist and nip at the closest piece of skin you can find, Bucky’s ear, and he engulfs you in a kiss which steals the breath right out of you. You buck your hips, hoping to nonverbally convey the demand get in me right now, and Bucky doesn't need any more hints than that.

He fumbles with the condom for a second and you take the time to sit up on your elbows and look at him. Bucky is so beautiful, drawn in harsh lines and stark contrasts. Tan skin turned paler against the opaque black of his tattoos, colour swirling in-between and it should be jarring, but you think he just looks like art. Bitten red lips, startling blue eyes pinning you to the mattress as he catches you staring - such bright, primary colours because he is a statement piece, and one you could look at forever.

Bucky grins almost bashfully as you stare at him, leaning back over you to kiss you soft and sweet in a sharp juxtaposition to the rough tumble which got you here. Again, he sends your head spinning when the tender kiss is punctuated by the unexpected push of Bucky’s cock in your cunt. He bottoms out before you can blink, throwing your head back out of the kiss with an untamed groan - both pleasure and pain, in the good way. Bucky drags his teeth from your lips down your chin and neck, biting a mark into your collarbone to set the tone for the bruising pace he creates as he pounds into you.

He doesn’t do anything in halves, you think. You gaze up at him with an almost dopey smile while Bucky fucks the literal breath out of you. You lift your hips to meet him as he bottoms out with every thrust, watching in awe as his face creases up in ecstasy - it’s you who brings him there. He palms your tits like he can’t help himself, loses control in your pussy because you make him feel that good, and the thought makes you giddy. Drunk, almost, as you drag your nails down his chest and nearly come once again just from the moan you draw out of this brilliant, dangerous, gorgeous man.

“You take it so well, baby, fuck,” Bucky pants, eyebrows creasing as the pleasure gets almost painful in its build. You know the feeling. Bucky’s mouth is always your undoing, rolling your eyes back into your head and the sounds you’re making turning positively feral. He kisses you again, more a slam of mouths than anything finessed, and says, “Never gonna get over this, never gonna get over how good you feel.”

“Bucky, you gotta-“

“I gotta what, huh?” Bucky grins at the pleasure-addled panic he brings you too, not wanting to come too fast but also needing to let go before you actually explode. He knows exactly what he’s doing, balancing on one hand to thumb harshly at your clit as he says, “You want me to stop? I don’t think so, sweetheart, I think you wanna come on my cock just like this, wanna hear me tell you how good you are, how sweet you are for me all laid out like this-“

Everything whites out as you come, hard, all your muscles spasming like crazy with the orgasm that rips through you. Bucky’s voice is drowned out, but it doesn’t matter what he’s saying anymore, he’s made you feel like you’ll never catch your breath again. Bucky thunks his forehead against yours, collapsing on top of you as the fluttering clench of your cunt around his cock becomes too much. His thrusts turn sloppy, his breath hot and ragged across your face as you press lazy, barely-there kisses to his cheeks - all you can muster in your fucked-out haze.

Bucky comes with his eyes closed, eyelashes tangling with yours, and you cling to him with all four limbs as he shakes through his orgasm. The release was so needed for the both of you, the events of the last twenty-four hours frying your nerves to the point where it was either fight, cry, or fuck. It feels so good to have Bucky on top of you, inside you, all around you in every single sense and it warms your heart in a way you didn’t know was possible until now. Until Bucky.

Maybe that’s the afterglow talking, and you should stop. But you can’t help but press another kiss to Bucky’s cheek, and another, over his nose and across his still-closed eyelids until you reach his mouth and he can kiss you back just as soft. You hope he gets it. You hope he feels it too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You go to see your dad, eventually. The chaos of yesterday kept you attached to Bucky’s hip - you showered together in the morning, and he allowed you to pretend it was just the water and not tears soaking your face. But he made you cuddle with him on the couch and fed you an omelette like you were incapable of feeding yourself, and maybe you were, because the reality of what happened in that shitty Manhattan bar was starting to eat away at your executive functions. It took all of your strength to convince Bucky you would be ok and that you’d come back to him as soon as you were done, but it was time to pull on a thread you’ve been ignoring for far too long.

It turns out, that paranoid over-questioning part of your brain doesn’t turn off even during a traumatic event. Your dad lets you in without a word, tugging you into a side hug as you both walk to the kitchen to make tea.

The house you grew up in has taken on a different light since the Lerna. The kitchen chairs aren’t the same, reminding you too much of ziptied wrists and a gun in your face. Why can you superimpose the memory of Rumlow holding you hostage to one you have of being eleven and tied to a chair by your father? You shouldn’t be able to do that.

He nudges your hip, jerking you out of your staring contest with the dining chairs, and offers you a mug of tea. You both sit at the table, either end, the fruit bowl a mediator between you. He looks tired, old, like he always has somehow in your memories from childhood. He’s still your dad, the same man who always been there because he’s all you’ve ever had. He loves you, you know does. Ya lyublyu tebya, luna. But he has always been the first to say your paranoid streak runs a mile deep, and once you find a thread-

Well. Everyone knows how that ends.

“Do you want to talk about it?” your dad asks, and it’s like he knows you aren’t here to ask for boy advice or moan about a case or your skyrocketing rent.

There’s a lot you want to talk about. Why did I learn to throw knives instead of joining the soccer team, like normal kids? Why did I learn how to survive an interrogation instead of going to sleepovers, like normal kids? Why did you train me to question everyone and everything in this world, but I’ve always blindly believed you? Like a normal kid would, you suppose, the only normal you’ve ever really gotten. Always believing your dad is the superhero of six-year-old dreams, someone who would never keep you in the dark.

“No,” you say, taking a sip of tea. It burns your tongue to numbness, but you can’t bring yourself to care. We had the secret language for only us - why did I never think you might have secrets from me as well? You grimace into your tea and say, “Not right now, I’m sorry.”

“Tayny budut presledovat tebya vechno, malysh,” he says. Secrets will haunt you forever, little one.

You don’t dare look up from your tea as you say, “Ya dumayu, ty by znal vse ob etom.” I guess you’d know all about that.

He gives you leftover curry in a carry bag when you leave. Kisses you on the cheek and lets you go, but you can feel him watching you the entire time it takes you to walk down the street and out of sight. As soon as you round the corner you retch into the nearest bush, a well-manicured rose which you silently apologise to as it gets covered in your bile.

This guilt isn’t something Bucky can save you from - it feels like it’s eating you alive. You had never, ever thought you would get to the point where you’d be leaving a bug stuck to the underside of your dad’s kitchen table, but you suppose you never thought you’d be stalked and kidnapped either. You wipe the your mouth with the back of your hand as your stomach finishes emptying itself of tea and betrayal, and try to tell yourself you won’t find anything, you're just being paranoid. But you know you will.

Maybe you always have, and that’s why you’ve been too scared to pull on the thread you’ve known has been dangling in the back of your mind since you were a kid. Just one secret you wanted to leave, one dark corner you didn’t want to shine a light into. That’s never been in your nature. You spit the foul, acidic taste from your mouth onto a poor, innocent rose bud and think with just as much bitterness as the bile coating your throat, that’s not who my dad raised me to be.

Part 7

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Imagine:

The reader is a best selling author and her book is about all her past lovers (Erik is one of them)

Smutty, Flashback, Dark

It’s hard writing Erik with a nickname besides killmonger so I am sorry in advance if his name pops up when it’s not supposed to LOL. Enjoy Loves!

Y/N was afraid to come out with this book but her team insisted that she did. They said it was one of her best works yet. Y/N did agree but there was one particular person in that book that she didn’t want to know about her writing. Y/N went along with it anyway because she needed the new book to do well since her royalties were getting low from other published works. That was over three months ago. Now, she was still doing interviews and signing autographs in New York and Los Angeles book shops. Her face was on TV, in magazines, and in Time Square in Manhattan, New York. He knew... he had to know.

Y/N’s book was an erotic tale about her past lovers. She gave each of them pseudonyms to protect their identities. The title was called Concupiscent. It means lustful or desire. This wasn’t like the poetry or erotic romance tales...this was very smutty and so nasty you couldn’t go a second without touching yourself. The fan mail she received was outstanding. Especially from the BDSM community. It was all thanks to him... F-16. He was the last chapter in her book filled with past lovers.

He was nicknamed F-16 because the one thing he told her was that he flew an F-16 Fighter Falcon Jet in the Military. His story got the most hits out of all of them. People were dying to know who F-16 was.

-I need F-16 in my life! He fucked you so well I could feel that shit myself!

-could you please share with me who F-16 is? He sounds so sexy.

-are you still in touch with F-16? If so you are a lucky woman, Y/N.

-F-16 fucked you real good!

-all of the chapters were amazing! Nothing surprising but that F-16!!! Girllllllllll I need more of him! Write an entire book with just him and I’d give you all my money!

-The book club loves the story! A lot of us reread F-16 while sipping our wine LOL. Very sexy chapter.

“You see, Erik, they can’t get enough of you,” Y/N spoke to herself within her penthouse while reading fan mail. She sipped her glass of red wine with enthusiasm. Y/N couldn’t deny the fact that she missed Erik deeply. It was just a one night stand but goddam...the shit needed to happen more than once. However, Erik was very secretive with his life. He was also very upfront and told her what he wanted: some pussy...

July 8th, 2019:

F-16.

She lived for nights thick with lust.

Angel Face wasn’t so much an angel anymore.

She yearned to be seduced and destroyed.

She was tired of delicate kisses and romantic evenings.

No...Angel Face wanted something harder; vicious even.

The Blaze was a rather chancy bar. Y/N sat on a bar stool on her fifth shot of Blue Sapphire Gin with her finger twirling a strand of her sleek silk pressed hair. Maybe she didn’t have enough to drink. She was already talking herself out of this mess. Her stomach did summer salts and her fingers fiddled with the hem of her short red mini halter dress. Such a slutty choice of attire. She nibbles the corner of her bottom lip as her amber-colored eyes scanned the bar for a potential man to take her home and fuck her hard and rapid. She didn’t want timid strokes, she wanted back-breaking strokes. Y/N needed a man who looked at her as she rested before him with her divine body exposed for him and thinks to himself, what kind of noises would I like her to make? 

“OHHHH!” 

Thunderous drunken applause came from Y/N’s right. She looked over at the small group with immense curiosity. A group of men that looked very hazardous and unsafe. Even the women who entertained them looked a little wary. They were all tall and muscular. Men who could snap your neck with a simple squeeze. 

“Can I have another shot of Gin?” She asked the same punk rock bartender who gave her the last five she had.

“Foxy,” He nicknamed her since she settled at the bar, “You’ll pass out and I don’t want your pretty face on this bar.” 

“I can handle it, trust me,” Y/N pleaded.

“Fine, I warned you.”

He poured her the shot she asked for.

Y/N threw it back and accepted the sweet burn.

“Whew,” she pinched her lips together, “That really hit the spot,” she let out a drunken giggle, her breasts bouncing.

“Foxy,” The punk rocker gave her a playful smile, “Are you alright?”

She gave him a goofy grin, “never better,” her words slurred slightly.

The Punk Rocker gave her a bottle of water, Y/N taking it thankful that the bartender was being thoughtful.

Y/N turns back around focusing on that corner again. There were dartboards on the wall and a pool table but instead of the men throwing darts they were throwing daggers. Y/N flinches in her seat. Sharp toys...spine-chilling. Her body felt hot all over. The alcohol seemed to make her hyper-aware of all the predatory eyes on her. All different types of men staring at her like a pack of wolves. 

“You’re too delicate for this bar, Foxy.”

Y/N could agree with that but she was tired of that label. Why couldn’t she be risky and wild? Y/N was doing it now. That dance floor surrounded by low lighting was calling her name. She could twirl her hips and shake her ass into a sweaty frenzy. Finger comb her hair to show off her sex appeal, lock eyes with a man just to tease him and make him consider going to the urinal to buss a load. Bend over to show her lack of panties. Yes…she didn’t have on panties but she did bring a pair in her clutch just in case. Y/N could be heaven or hell. A strong man’s dream and a weak one's nightmare. 

“That a boy F-16!” 

Y/N’s eyes darted back over to the group of intimidating men, resting on whoever F-16 could be. She hoped this was him. He was honestly the only good-looking man in that bar. 6 ‘3, 225 lbs of lean muscle. He wore a tactical black utility vest, black long sleeve fitted henley, cargo pants in a black and grey camouflage pattern and black timbs. 

“Watch out, Damion, I don’t wanna end up aiming for your head,” F-16 spoke while rotating a Kunai throwing knife in his hand. All eyes were on him in that moment to see if he would miss or actually hit the bullseye. 

“Any day now, F16,” Damion rushes him while downing the rest of his beer. F-16 gave him a death glare before turning back to the dartboard, arm coming up and forward swiftly. The throwing knife whizzes past Damion, almost slicing the top of his ear and landing straight for the damn bullseye. The area exploded with cheers, yells, and ferocious pats on the back. The women clapped delicately while staring at F-16 with sultry eyes. Y/N could relate to those stares as well. He was...so damn...fine. However, if he was around those types of men that means he’s equally as dangerous. 

Don’t do it, Y/N...

“Hey, could you watch my bag for me? I feel like dancing.”

The punk rock bartender squinted his eyes covered with black eyeliner, “alright, Foxy, don’t get yourself hurt out there.”

Y/N stepped off of the stool, giving the bartender a sassy look, “who would want to hurt all this?” Her hands trailed up and down her tantalizing body, “I mean...fuck it maybe, but hurt…”

“I think I underestimated you, Foxy,” The bartender gave her a sly grin.

Y/N swiveled around in her heels. She made her way through the wild crowd and to the dance floor. They were playing decent music to dance to. She found a spot in the center and started at her own pace. Her eyes moved around her to take in all the men who savagely wanted to grab her. They looked ready to gang-bang her and she liked the thought of men salivating over her that intensely but Y/N wouldn’t bring herself to fuck a group of men...unless they all looked like F-16. Her hips moved in a circle to the deep base of the Afrobeat. She really liked the variety of music here. Of course, this caused all the black people to crowd the dance floor too. Y/N had her hands in her hair, on her thighs whenever she went low, on her ass when she let it jiggle and bounce. She was looking really scrumptious on that dance floor. 

It was as if the entire dance floor made a circle around her. She was in her own world now. Eyes closed, body moving with a skill that could make a grown man cry. She was giving her the best sexy performance. This had her adrenaline pumping. 

Behind every bad bitch is a sweet girl who got tired of everyone’s bullshit. 

“You’re the best fucking dancer I’ve ever seen.”

“Thanks,” her heart skipped a few beats.”

“Name?” He raised a single brow at her as if to say oh, you’re gonna tell me your name, baby girl.

“Foxy.” She didn’t want to tell this man her real name. This was supposed to be a no strings attached ordeal. 

“You’re doing the damn thing, Miss Foxy.”

The way he said her newfound nickname had her toes curling. She was Angel Face no more. Not when this fine ass dangerous man stood before her. That’s right...F-16 was down for her. Y/N’s little performance sparked his interest. 

“You’re out here by yourself?” He got closer to her now. His dreads rested over his eyes almost and it gave him a wild look. 

“Yes, I came alone.” 

“Damn...to a place like this? you never come to a place like this alone, Foxy.” 

“...why?” She gave him a perplexed look.

“Because it’s filled with bad guys,” His eyes looked tricky, “None of that fake shit you see in movies, baby girl...the real lion's den.”

Y/N swallowed spit to soothe her dry throat. 

“I take it you’re one of those guys?”

“You wanna find out?” His precarious grin would be beautiful if it weren’t for his haunting words. Y/N came to find out. She wanted this. 

“Yes, if it’s with you, I’m down.”

He chuckles, “Shit...aight.”

He grabs Y/N’s hand, leading her towards the “bad guys” that she watched from the bar earlier. Some of them reeked of liquor breath and cigarettes, others smelled quite nice like F-16. The women in the area looked at her like she was competing with them. F-16 kept her close though, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting her between his strong thighs. She assumed he did this to show the other men that Foxy was his to play with. 

“This is Foxy. I found her shaking that thick ass on the dance floor.” 

She froze at that introduction. Y/N looked around at the group of men giving them a shy smile and a wave of her small hand.

“Nah, baby girl, introduce yourself,” His words were cutthroat and sharp in her ear.

“I’m Foxy, nice to meet y’all,” F-16′s hands gripped her hips on both sides.

“She’s soft,” A tall man with skin like midnight and a scar on his left cheek spoke, “a good girl.”

Y/N didn’t like that. She was trying to appear like a bad bitch, not a princess. 

“Pussy probably tastes just like sugar,” The man spoke again causing the other men to hum in approval.

“If it does, I’ll be the judge of that. Ain’t that right, Miss Foxy?” 

His soft-spoken voice tickled her neck. She felt frazzled. Her low eyes turned to his dark ones, her lip between her teeth. 

“Yeah...that’s right,” He gave her a sly lop-sided grin with those full lips. He was certain that Y/N would be going home with him. She liked that a lot. A hell of a lot. He could take her to his place right now and fuck her all night long. Y/N wanted to bury her face into this man's neck and breath in his scent. He was so large and warm surrounding her. Her pussy quivered and damn near begged her to let this man put it on her. 

“So, what do you guys do for a living?”

She was curious. 

“We’re military men,” One of them spoke up.

“I’m an Airmen,” F-16 spoke with a husky voice, “I fly fighter jets.”

He said it in such a dismissive tone that it didn’t appear all the way true. He did hint to the fact that this place was filled with nothing but bad men so maybe he was putting on a front so she wouldn’t go running away crying. All the other men had treacherous looks on their faces. 

Killers.

They’re murderers.

She was glad they put on a nicer front. If not she probably would chicken out of an opportunity with F-16. 

“Sounds cool,” she smiles, “tell me more.”

“Nah,” F-16 places his thumb against her chin to rub it lightly, “You’re not interested in what I do. You just want somebody to fuck the shit outta you.” 

Her lip twitched a little. Damn, this man could read her like an open book. 

“Is that a problem?” Y/N said in a discourteous tone.

“Fuck no. That’s what I plan to do to you, Foxy. Just know you’re in for some shit, girl,” he brought his lips to her ear, “You got these other bitches mad at you.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” She spoke in a bold tone, “they’re loss my gain.” 

“Shit,” He places a kiss to her neck, “I like you. You got a lot of mouth on you.”

Y/N normally didn’t but he sparked a rebellious nature within her. Y/N wanted to be a bad girl for him tonight. 

“Sharing, F-16?” The same man with the face scar asks. He had a determination in his eyes to have a piece of Foxy. F-16’s succulent lips dragged down Y/N’s neck and to the exposed cleavage on the sides of her dress. She was alarmed by his outright need to suck her flesh in front of these men. His hands were dancing around her hips just above her soaking wet pussy. He didn’t need to respond to that man, He let him know by how famished he was. 

“Come on, let us get a piece of that,” Another man with an African accent asks. 

“Y'all some thirsty motherfuckers. Nah, she mines,” F-16 wrapped his hand lightly around Y/N’s neck. She shuddered from how thick and warm his calloused hand felt around her slender neck. If he applied just the right amount of pressure she would probably whimper in ecstasy. Even though Y/N was bold enough to stand between F-16’s legs she wasn’t bold enough to press her bubble booty against his crotch. She just knew that dick was nice, hard, and suckable right now. 

“You can’t speak, Foxy?” One of them spoke up with a harsh tone. F-16 grunted with frustration. Maybe it was best that he takes her out of here to avoid a brawl between these men. 

“I can speak...I’m with him, sorry,” She gave her best charming smile. The menacing glares were thrown they’re way had Y/N shaking in her heels. F-16 pulls Y/N closer to him, her ass finally slumped with a soft bounce against his long and rather...girthy erection. 

Stuff this pussy, Daddy, She thought. Lord, he was everything she was missing. 

“Can we get out of here?” Y/N whispered to F-16 while he was drinking his whiskey, “I want you to take me home with you.”

“Just like that, huh?” He licks his lips, “Don’t act all scared when I take that ass out of here.”

“I promise I won’t” She spoke to him softly before placing her lips against his dimpled cheek.

“We’ll see.” His disbelieving eyes had Y/N second-guessing her words. 

________________

Leaving that bar was like a breath of fresh air. F-16 informed her that he arrived on a bike and that she would need to ride out to his hotel on the back with him. He didn’t have a spare helmet so he offered her his. She took it with quivering fingers hoping that he didn’t sense her fear. 

“You riding, baby girl?” He looked so good on that speed bike. Taking one last calming breath, Y/N placed the helmet over her head, gripping her clutch tightly before settling on the back of the bike with F-16.

“Good girl. Wrap your arms around me nice and snug...good girl. Now lean in towards me...just like that. You’re ready?”

“Just drive.” She placed her cheek against F-16’s back, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Say less,” He zoomed off down the city street and into the night. Y/N was in a state of anxiety the entire ride. He zipped and zoomed between cars, made sharp turns, and sped up whenever the roads were clear enough for him to have a little fun. He had to feel her heartbeat rattling against his solid back. Now, they were inside a tunnel whipping past cars. Y/N could feel her dress flying up past her naked ass and at this point, she didn’t care that everyone around her caught a glimpse before they were nowhere in sight. She wasn’t about to let go of him just to pull the short-as-fuck dress down. Plus, she had too much ass back there anyway. F-16 began to slow down as he approached a luxury hotel in Boston. He drove through the garage, going around several levels before finding a parking spot. The minute he parked his bike Y/N hopped off to fix her dress. It was up and around her waist. That explains why the valet men wolf-whistled at her. The minute Y/N removed her helmet she came face to face with F-16 adjusting his shirt and revealing two Glocks resting on his hips. His well-knit, muscle-bound abdomen and hips made her crave to touch, lick, and suck this man all over but those guns...petrifying. 

“Gotta watch my back,” He answered her question before she could even ask, “Got a lot of enemies.”

“For a fighter pilot?” Y/N gave him a puzzled stare.

“You’d be surprised, ma,” His eyes flickered up and down her shapely form, “I won’t hurt you.”

She knew he wouldn’t but Y/N never saw guns up close and in person. This just made the situation more real for her. She was definitely fucking a trained killer. Maybe a mercenary? An assassin? He’s definitely more than a fighter pilot for the Military. All of the men at that bar too.

“Don’t be scared, ma, I got you.”

“Okay,” Y/N placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead the way to his hotel room. 

__________________

It was dark.

Everything pitch black.

She could hear him moving about before a small lamp light within the living room flickered on. She looked around her with eager eyes as he removed his utility vest and timbs. She walked slowly around the hotel room, hands in her hair and a nervous feeling in her gut. 

“Restroom?” She asked with a shaky voice.

F-16 points down a hall, “Down and to your left, baby girl.” 

Y/N took off finding the restroom with a jacuzzi tub, standing shower, and a beautiful view of Boston. She closed the door, pulling her dress up to use the toilet. Y/N ran her trembling fingers through her hair, trying her hardest to calm her nerves. He was gonna put it on her for sure he didn’t even have to prove that to her. She wiped and flushed, standing at the sink to wash her hands and look over her makeup and hair. Her hair still looked nice but that wouldn’t last. Makeup still on point as well. She hesitated to leave that bathroom. 

“Breath, Foxy, it’s just sex. You’ve had sex plenty of times,” Her voice didn’t even sound convincing. Grabbing a hotel rag in a frenzy Y/N refreshed herself between her legs before finally leaving that bathroom. When she walked back to the living room he wasn’t in sight and it was dark again. Turning around, Y/N went to find his room which was directly across from the restroom except the door was cracked. Being the nosy girl she was, Y/N peaked between the crack to see what he was up to. F-16 was in the middle of packing away some weapons and foreign currency. He was topless showing off his powerful and dynamic body covered in keloid scars. She had an odd look on her face as she studied the organized placement of those scars. It was beautiful but Y/N is a smart girl, she knew those scars held a grizzly past. Before she could even react F-16 pulled his bedroom door opened, staring down at her with a menacing glare. 

“Spying on me?” He had a glint in his eyes and a base in his voice that made her shiver.

“I’m sorry I was just looking for you!” She spoke in a jumble. 

His chest rose and fell with harsh breaths, “It's not polite to spy on someone, Miss Foxy. That shit can get you in a whole lot of trouble if you aren’t careful,” F-16 stepped back to allow her to fully enter his room, “Get comfortable, we got a long night, ma.”

Y/N cautiously stepped inside. F-16 reached out to harshly slap her ass. Y/N’s back flinched and her hands came around to caress her sore flesh. 

“Big ass on you, girl,” He closed his door, “You need another drink?”

“N-No.” Y/N sat on the edge of F-16’s bed facing a wall mirror that hung over his hotel dresser. 

“Stand up,” F-16 stood in front of her. Y/N got up from the bed, his hard body pressing against the front of hers.

“Turn around.”

She did as she was told, turning away from him and stroking her hair to the side to give him access to her neck. F-16’s hands feathered through her hair, massaging her scalp. She closed her eyes, head falling back against his brawny chest as he lightly tugged on her pressed out strands. He would wrap his fingers around her hair and pull to make her head fall back against him. Now, his nose was in her hair as he massaged her scalp. The air from his nose warmed her scalp each time he exhaled. Her eyes fluttered shut and now her hands were reaching back to squeeze his thighs. That’s all she could really reach since he was much taller than her 5’ 5 self. F-16 takes her hair into a ponytail, leaning down to place his lips against the back of her neck. Now, her body was arched forward a little and her bubble booty was pressed firmly against his groin. His lips circled her earlobe over her diamond stud in her left ear. His wet warm mouth had a tight suction on her ear that had her thinking about that same tightness around her clit. F-16 softly places his hands on her hips, flipping Y/N around to face him. His brown eyes were so fanatic that she couldn’t even hold his gaze. F-16 grabs her jaw, placing his starving lips against her neck again. His hands moved from her jaw down and around her waist to pull her from the ground. Startled, Y/N wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. He had better access now to her collar bones and heaving chest. His large hands squeezed each bare cheek of her ass while he places open-mouthed kisses along her breasts.

“I’m tired of this fucking dress,” He spoke in a hushed tone, “I feel like cuttin’ this shit off of you, girl.” 

If he did that she wouldn’t have anything to wear when she went home. He takes one of his hands to untie the halter. Once that was free he practically ripped it from her chest. Her breasts popped out at him and his lips began to suck and lick her nipples. Y/N arched into his mouth while her hands fingered through his dreads. She tried looking down to watch him pleasure her breasts but he had her so weak and feeling so good. He was suckling like a hungry baby and damn she could feel that shit in her toes. 

“Fucking sexy, girl,” He murmured something into her chest while his lips attacked each hard nipple. Not only were her nipples given attention but around her breasts were too. He french kissed that skin basically wetting her up with his saliva. 

“Oh, God,” She mewled, “Your mouth feels so good on me.”

She wanted him to lay her on her back and lick and suck her all over. Y/N’s body was screaming for attention. Y/N pulled F-16’s face away from her nipples and replaced it with her greedy dripping tongue. He swallowed her tongue and lips with his full mouth. His tongue was deep down her throat causing her eyes to open and stare at him with a sexual appetite. She really needed him. Kissing him made her open her legs further so she could feel his clothed dick stroke her hard clit. 

“You needy little girl,” He smirked, “that pussy wants some attention, huh?”

“See?” She opened her legs as best she could. F-16 looked down then back up at her face. Y/N had her fingers pinching her clit, “Suck my clit.”

“Shit,” F-16 tosses Y/N on the bed, “Spread them legs and show me how you play with that pussy.”

She didn’t hesitate because her fingers were aching to touch. She spread her legs so wide she felt like they were detached from her own body. Her pussy was spread out and sloppy. She fingered her clit causing some of her natural lubricant to drip. Taking her fingers, Y/N dragged that liquid up to her clit to rub it in. She noticed F-16’s erection twisted to the side in his briefs now that his pants were removed. If she pulled those briefs down his dick would probably hit her in the face. He walked up to her, standing between her legs and bringing his hand down to rub along the outside of her opening. Wet gushing sounds came from her pussy each time his fingers would tap lightly against her hole. Damn, she was so wet. His other hand grabbed his balls through his briefs. 

“This how you play with that pretty pussy, Foxy?” 

“Yes,” She rolled her hips.

“You rub that clit just like that?”

“Mhm,” Her eyes closed.

“Make that clit nice and hard, huh?” 

“Fuck yes,” She was close. 

Two of his fingers slipped inside. She widened her legs while still rubbing her clit. He was knuckle deep in her pussy and she was sure his hand was soaking wet. 

“I’m making that pussy cum?” His other hand was in his briefs now.

“Yeah, you’re making my pussy cum,” Y/N couldn’t even rub her clit anymore from how weak he made her. Now his thumb replaced her actions. She thrust her hips forward more to get his fingers deeper. 

“This too much?” His voice was so low and seducing.

“No, I can take it,” Y/N moaned out.

“Shit, then you should be able to take this,” F-16 slid a third finger inside. 

Stuttering she said, “F-fuckk I-I’m cumming f-for you!”

His fingers came up to rub her clit as her essence spilled onto the bed. Her thighs closed and her body fell back against the bed. F-16 finally let those briefs down and showed her what he was packing. He had such a beautiful dick and body. It looked so good and she knew it would feel just as good in her pussy. Beautiful man. She had a serious body and dick fetish. 

“Damn, can I suck it?” She licked her upper lip, “Let me slide that right down my throat.”

Y/N was proving to him that she wasn’t afraid. She opened her legs more for him while wrapping her small hand around his big dick. F-16 smiled down at her and she thought she would die from how fine he is. Taking her giving and unsparing lips, Y/N allowed that pipe to slide right in down to the base.

“Nasty bitch,” F-16 showed Y/N no mercy as he fucked her mouth. She thought she would take control but it was all him… all of him indeed. She wanted to suck him dry. Her sloppy mouth spilled saliva over her chest. She purposely made gagging noises to let him know that she loved the dick and how perfect and beautiful it was. 

“Daddy, I want,” She said while F-16 slapped his weight on her tongue.

“Say please,” He rubbed it along the length of her tongue.

“Please feed me.”

Swallowing it whole, Y/N was loving that chocolate stick as it swelled in her bountiful mouth. 

“Fuck, bitch, look what you’re about to make me do,” His head fell forward and his lip was between his teeth. His face looked so relaxed but his body was literally shaking as he erupted thickly within her mouth. It was yummy perfection. F-16 slapped Y/N’s pussy before rubbing her clit and labia in slow circles. Her eyes were on him, silently telling him to punish her brutally. Removing his hand and placing it in his mouth to suck off her cream, F-16 walks over to his pants to grab his wallet. Wrapped in gold was a magnum that he ripped open to roll over his shaft. Walking back to Y/N with her legs still spread open He reached down to pick her up so he could fuck her standing. She practically jumped on him, opening her legs to give her pussy to him.

“How you like that pussy fucked?” He asked while rubbing his dick back and forth over her wet folds.

“Deep daddy,” Y/N stared into his dark eyes, “So deep daddy...very deep...I wanna feel your balls slap my pussy.”

“You wanna be a slut for this big dick so damn bad,” He finally let his length inside of her. He was deep like she wanted. Her mouth fell open into a silent scream. 

“Damn, pussy feels just as good as it tastes, baby,” F-16 gave her shivers, “You wanted to be filled like this looking the way you did at that fucking bar, HUH?!” He thrust forward sharply and pulled out slowly. He repeated this assault on her pussy over and over until she was finally able to mutter a sound. 

“You can take some dick in you, mhm,” Y/N bounced as best as she could on him without stopping. F-16 was so big in her little pussy. He saw her struggle and now his hands were under her ass to lift her up and down his dick. She dragged her nails painfully over the scars on his chest when his dick made contact with her g spot. 

“Damn, you’re gripping my shit,” His hand found her neck, “You like showing this pussy off? Wearing no panties with all that ass and pussy out. If I would have known, this dick would be in that pussy at the bar instead.”

The thought of being fucked on the dance floor or on that pool table in front of all those people had Y/N so wet and open for him. She moaned his name and wrapped her arms around him while he molded his dick into her pussy at a rapid pace. The power of her orgasm pushed against his dick causing him to slip out. He grabbed his dick at the base and rubbing it along her clit. She continued to spill for him when he did that. Y/N’s cum was plentiful. She couldn’t lie that it feels great when he’s a little too big and overwhelming to take. His dick was long and strong and when he pulled her off him to place her on her back she almost came again. She wondered how long he would be in town because she really wanted to fuck him from sunrise to sunset. 

Damn, now his lips were on her pussy. Y/N rubbed the back of his head softly even though his lips were strong on her pussy. He was licking away the mess he caused. 

“Mmm, fuck this tight pussy up, Daddy,” She was ready for more. 

He still had his lips on her pussy. 

“Daddy...please,” She tried pulling him away but damn he was really eating her pussy. Her arms wobbled and fuck she was gonna cum again. He held her hips in place while his tongue fucked her pussy. She watched his head move back and forth. He pistoned that tongue in and out of her. She wanted the pussy fucked again he was gonna give it to her every which way.

“Ima fuck around and hit you up every time I’m in Boston with a pussy like this,” He slapped her phat pussy, “Ain’t no such thing as too much big dick for you, slut.”

She was really being a daredevil tonight. F-16 wanted to give her backshots but Y/N needed to sit on his dick first. She begged him and now here she was bouncing on his dick. Her ass clapped against his thighs and her titties bounce in his face. 

“Good, bitch, sit on it, take that FUCKING dick!”

This was a real dick fuck. Foxy is a true rider. She was fucking F-16′s head up on purpose. Ride that dick. Jump on that dick. Bounce on that dick. Taking that dick and using it for a cum stick. 

“You hiding that sexy phat ass from me?” His sweaty face glowered at her, “Fuck me in reverse, bitch, and twerk that ass!”

Y/N kept the dick in her while turning to give him a view of her phat ass. She looked back at his sexy face because it said it all for her. F-16 was ready to bust a load in that condom. 

“Shit, that's how you feel?! Gon’ head nut on this Daddy dick then!” her moans were so damn angelic. She couldn’t hide behind a nickname like Foxy when Angel Face was her true identity. 

“Damn, I got me one for real,” He slaps Y/N’s ass, “Thick as fuck, damn, got a phat ass.”

Out of nowhere, F-16 sits up on his knees causing Y/N to fall forward on her elbows with her ass in the air. F-16 was ready to slam in that pussy for real. She needed to be appreciated for being such a good slut for him. F-16 grabs a fist full of her hair, making her look up into the mirror above his dresser. She strained her neck to watch her ass clap back on him.

“Been too damn long...hmmph.”

That’s that shit she was talking about.

Fucking hard and rapid.

Use her pussy like a punching bag.

“You watching that ass? Watch it while I fuck this pussy.”

She could see her cheeks acting like a tidal wave whenever he dug deep. He was fucking the shit out of her. She would love to roll over to this every morning and before bed at night. Damn, F-16 could fuck some pussy up. She just watched open-mouthed as her ass bounced and clapped. She started moaning and cumming around him. 

“You are sexy as hell, bruh...got my dick hard just looking at you, Foxy.”

She started twirling her hips and popping her ass while throwing it back on him. F-16 had his arms by his sides but from time to time he would pop her big ass for pleasing him so good. 

“That’s how you do Daddy’s dick? Just nut on me and fuck on me like this? Nice tight juicy pussy on you.”

“Mmmm-ahhhhhh,” She looked back at it with a pout of her lips. 

“Good, bitch, that’s right, give Daddy that pussy,” He slaps her ass with his eyes on her, “Get that pussy stuffed...good girl...let Daddy use that pussy.”

F-16 had his hands on her hips again and that's when Y/N really was in trouble. He was holding that nut off to feel her as much as he could like she would disappear. 

“Let Daddy use that pussy...let Daddy use that pussy...Let Daddy use that pussy,” He was so hung up on how good she felt he was repeating his words, “I should have fucked you raw and leave my nut in you GODDAM!”

Dick throbbing Y/N concord F-16’s dick. He was filling that condom up load after fucking load. 

“Fuckkkk, it’s so much cum!” She could feel it even though it wasn’t actually coating her walls. His thrusts became slower and slower until finally, his dick slipped out. Y/N turned around on the bed, grabbing his dick to remove the condom. F-16 watched her pour his cum into her mouth from that condom before arching forward to suck the rest from his dick. 

“I’ll suck your dick all the time, Daddy,” She looked up at him with her beautiful eyes.

“Then bring it on I’m always hard and ready to be sucked on ma,” 

Y/N found herself sucking this man’s dick yet again. Anywhere, anytime, anyway he wants it. 

“I wish I could take your fine ass with me,” He fingered some of her hair behind her ear before reaching forward to slap her ass, “I need you to calm a nigga down when he ready to kill a motherfucker.”

She didn’t flinch at his words. F-16 knew that she had him figured out the minute he stepped to her. Yeah...it was for the best that she didn’t get involved with this man and his deadly lifestyle but who was she kidding? Whenever he came to Boston or New York he could stop by and give her some good, rough, loving in her tight pussy. 

The End.

@tgigoldie @soufcakmistress @chefjessypooh@chaneajoyyy@pananegra@theblulife @becincere @blaqwidow91 @fish-outta-watah@moonlight-night-sky @eyeknowmywrites  @crowngold@njadakillthiscookie@blktinkerbell@luvanxi @sheisexcellent1@chocolatedippedinhoney@brandithecrystalgem@dababydababydababydababy@soulfulbeauty19@btitannaaa@sunkissedebony97 @youngblackndgifted@harleycativy @rbhp@thee-germanpeach @thadelightfulone@bugngiz@palmstreesallday@skylahb @bakaris-shorty @nizzle-mo​ @truglori @queenflaws

[inkribbon796]

It’s too Early for This

Summary: For Henrik’s birthday. Henrik has been receiving some gruesome leftovers every morning, and all signs point to Anti.

This is the exchange I made up in my head that inspired this whole fic:

Marvin: (sends fireworks overhead written in Jackie’s name)

Jackie: (misses the display completely)

Marvin: (screams in frustration)

Anti: (leaves dead birds to proclaim his love)

Henrik: I do not have enough coffee in my system to deal wiz zis.

Anti: (sad glitch noises)

Anti was an eccentric but after a couple months you got used to him. Or at least you learned to read his moods.

Unlike Dark or Phantom who would just glare at you and you had five seconds to guess and hope you got it right, Anti was straightforward. When he was bored he stabbed the closest moving object. When he was angry he stabbed the closest thing in general. There was no hesitation, no word play, no brooding in his room because things didn’t go his way.

But Anti had been bothering Henrik a lot, and leaving dead things outside his door. First it was small things like robins and finches. Then it was squirrels, and badgers. One morning Henrik had walked out to see a half-disemboweled nightmare beaver from Hell.

So Henrik usually kept a bin in front of his door so they didn’t have to keep replacing the carpet.

Henrik, exhausted from another late night at the hospital, opened his door and expected to see another rodent but what he saw was a human heart in a bin by the door.

Were this post-coffee, and not at 4 AM, Henrik would have his brain fully working and he would have screamed. Now he just stared at the alarm for a couple seconds. Then he picked it up and brought it with him into the kitchen. Jackie was half asleep at the table, looking like death walking, and he hugged his coffee to him as if it was going to save his life.

Seán was in a pair of sweats, and made a double take at the bin, “Shite! Anti again?”

Henrik set it down on top of the trash, immediately going for the coffee. “Ya.”

“Yah want me ta do somethin’ ‘bout him?” Jackieboy Man asked in concern.

“If ze glitch continues to send body parts, zen yes,” Henrik dismissed. “I am not a’vake enough for zis.”

“I feel yah,” Jackie agreed as a tremendous lightning storm hit right over their home, making everyone jump. The lightning hit Seán’s tinnitus particularly hard and spread to the rest of the Septics.

Seán was drinking his coffee, took one look at the heart and the rain again, “Night fookers!”

“It is 4 AM,” Henrik asked.

“Yeah, night,” Seán agreed.

Jackie looked outside and groaned. What he saw was Marvin and Anti were standing close to the street, Anti looking up at the sky and Marvin glaring at Anti. What Marvin had been planning on doing was summoning a huge display of lights for Jackie when the superhero walked out but at the last minute he was distracted by Anti and had messed up the spell, causing a storm instead.

And Marv wonders why our neighbors hate us, Jackie thought dryly.

“Yah fookin’ gopher shite,” Marvin spat at Anti, now thoroughly drenched to the bone.

“Ehh, yah should’a paid attention, maybe next time lover boy,” Anti chuckled.

“Oh like yeh can do any better,” Marvin spat back. “How’s ‘bout I fook over yer attempts ta fook Henrik.”

“Nah, Hein loves my gifts,” Anti reported proudly.

“Anti I s’vear,” Henrik had finally noticed that Anti was standing outside. “If you send me un more organ I vill feed you your own zrough a tube!”

The German doctor slammed the window and Anti had a heartbroken but love struck look on his face.

“Come on, Hein!” Anti groaned. “You can’t threaten me like that an’ not expect me ta fall in love with yah!”

“Smooth,” Marvin started trudging back inside, “real smooth. But, yah know better luck next time lover boy.”

“Shut it fore I kill yah, I sent him a heart, humans love those,” Anti grumbled, following the magician.

“Hey dipshite, yah know humans don’t send real hearts to someone, right?” Marvin reminded.

“What, that’s absurd,” Anti huffed. “What’s the point ‘a givin’ someone a heart if yah can’t hunt it down yer self?”

“We’re human, dumbass,” Marvin spat and once at the door he tried to shake off as much water as possible before heading inside. “Try gettin’ him some flowers or candy, Henrik loves caramel.”

Then he ran inside at a dead sprint to the bathroom to avoid getting as much water on the floor as possible. He failed, Chase noticed and got more than a bit pissed at him.

Anti for his part was just staring, missing Henrik walking out the door until it was too late.

So Anti decided that instead of demon tactics of blood sport and death threats weren’t working he’d try a more human approach, if Henrik wanted flowers and caramel, he’d get it for him.

Henrik day went from annoying to aggravating. He came to work to see Iplier tired but trying to stop himself from cackling. When Henrik looked at his desk it was covered in weeds, houseplants, and dirt. It was covering his desk. Whenever he cleaned up there was always more dirt and flowers. Then around midday he saw a clump of melted caramel just sitting on his desk, speckled with the dirt that Henrik hadn’t completely been able to clean up.

He knew to blame Anti, the glitch demon had been leaving him dead animals for ages, of course he’d dropped melted candy and weeds on his desk.

All day it was non-stop but he never came in time to catch Anti and yelled at him. This resulted in Henrik having a worsening mood all day and going home with death in his eyes. The first person he saw was Marvin who was sleeping on the couch.

“Marvin!” Henrik shouted in fury.

“Didn’t do it!” Marvin’s startled awake.

“Vere is Anti,” Henrik hissed.

“Don’t know, haven’t seen him,” Marvin told him, looking like he was about to fall asleep. “Last I heard he was getting flowers.”

“He put shit on my desk all day und I am going to kill him,” Henrik reported.

“Shit, he’s that bad a flirt?” Marvin grumbled, still half-asleep.

Henrik was so surprised by that statement it jolted him out of his anger a bit, he was still pissed as hell but now he was only slightly less pissed. “What?”

“Ahh, shite, yah didn’t hear nothin’ from me,” Marvin told him, suddenly very awake and scrambling away. “Gonna bug Jackie.”

The magician bolted out the house like he’d been set on fire, leaving Henrik alone with his slowly cooling anger.

The German doctor found Anti throwing his knives at the wall, trying to hit a picture of Seán and Dark’s faces.

“Anti,” Henrik warned.

Anti froze before he could toss another knife, staring at Henrik in surprise, “Sup Hein, you got an invitation.”

“Vhy did you melt caramel und pour dirt all over my desk?” Henrik asked.

“Maybe ‘cause I wanted to,” Anti evaded heatedly.

“Vhy did you put dirt on my desk?” Henrik asked.

“I couldn’t shake ‘em off the plants,” Anti tossed the knife at his dartboard.

“Did you give me flo’vers?” Henrik asked.

“Don’t be stupid, demons don’t give anyone flowers,” Anti denied, getting up to grab his knives again and started throwing them at the board at the other side of the wall that had all the other Septic’s pictures on it, including Henrik’s. Henrik’s picture was also the first one to get a knife thrown through it,

“Are you trying to flirt vit me? Henrik asked, almost certain Anti wasn’t.

But Anti paused and looked over at Henrik, “Is it workin’?”

Henrik took a second or two, deciding if even entertaining the idea of dating Anti was a good idea. He was a killer and more than a bit erratic. “No, I assume ze organs vere also an attempt at flirting.”

“Did yah like ‘em?” Anti asked in excitement.

That excitement was a bit of a surprise to Henrik, and a reminder that he was a demon. “No, ze organs vere vet und kald. Zey also dropped blood all over ze floor, however ze zought vas nice if you vere not attempting to kill me.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Anti grinned. “Besides, you threaten me so amazingly.”

“You like ven I z’reaten you?” Henrik asked.

“Course I do,” Anti grinned, inches away from Henrik in his typical flagrancy of Henrik’s personal space. “Yer so fookin’ descriptive.”

“Vell, maybe I can keep z’reatening you if you stop leaving ze animals, und perhaps,” Henrik offered “help me to start my day. I certainly vould not mind help wiz my coffee.”

Anti looked a little hopeful, “Black?”

“Two sugars,” Henrik answered. “No blood or organs.”

“No promises,” Anti smiled and glitched out of existence. Henrik left Anti’s room and relaxed for the rest of the day. He always felt like he was being watched but Anti didn’t show face.

However in the morning when Henrik opened his door, instead of seeing a dead animal or another organ, he saw a warm cup of coffee in his favorite mug in the container. Henrik smiled as he picked it up. He noticed that there were two sugar cubes that looked like human organs, one was a pair of lungs and another was a heart. It was almost too realistic but they crumbled like sugar and tasted like sugar so best bet was that they were sugar.

Henrik lifted the mug to his lips and went back into his room to change into his scrubs.

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  Breaking the Curse

Chapter 12: Life After Death

He moved his dagger the following Thursday, a week after he'd been caught, on Thanksgiving afternoon when he could be certain Regina was busy with Henry. Not that it was a terribly difficult task this time around. In fact, he'd spent practically the entire week figuring out the perfect spot to bury it out by his cabin. He'd had time to do it, felt comfortable waiting, all because of one fact.

Sheriff Graham was dead.

It had happened on the same day that he'd spotted him burying the dagger. That very night. Whether or not he'd told Regina he saw him that morning was unclear, but after hearing the report from Dove, who was still watching Emma, he felt confident enough that he hadn't had the time and there had never been the place. Emma had run into Graham that afternoon. They'd followed a white wolf, a real wolf, around town before going to the cemetery and sneaking into the Mills Mausoleum. When they'd come out, Emma and Regina had engaged in some sort of argument which Dove couldn't hear, but he confirmed that they'd both taken swipes at one another. He hadn't seen Regina leave, but Graham had left with Emma. They'd gone to the police station. And there, less than an hour later, Emma had frantically called the paramedics saying that Sheriff Graham had collapsed. Dove couldn't confirm, but the rumor was that by the time they'd shown up, Emma had been the one to tell them that he was dead.

The funeral was ill-planned because of the Thanksgiving Holiday Regina had scheduled it for the Sunday afterward. When he arrived, it was standing room only. The only way he'd gotten a seat was by walking over to Belle's father, sitting on the end of a row toward the back, and motioned to his leg with a smile. "You know…cane," was all he had to say before the man grumbled out a sigh and resigned his seat to him. He didn't say another word, not even as he mentioned that his loan was coming due, and he was looking forward to doing business with the man who had killed his true love…though he might have left off that last little fact. Crowded as it was, the others in the row made plenty of room for him.

It felt like nearly half the town was packed into the tiny funeral parlor room. It figured. Regina had planned the service. Since he'd had no family, she'd seen it as her mayorly duty to make the arrangements. It figured that someone like her would have assumed that she'd be the only one to attend instead of considering the town that Graham kept safe and in order throughout the Curse. The former Evil Queen tried to maintain a façade of responsibility and valor, but he could see how his pupil swallowed hard, the way she blinked too frequently and dabbed at her eyes. If he didn't know any better, he'd think the poor girl had actually cared for the man, maybe even convinced herself that he cared for her. Magic and hearts and love…it was first and foremost messy stuff. He thought he'd taught her that.

To her credit, Emma Swan did not cry, but it was clear that she was affected by the Sheriff's death. She'd been with him when it happened at the police station, so it was ridiculous to think that she wouldn't be affected. And though he'd heard that she'd cried plenty that night, she didn't shed a single tear now. Sitting next to Mary Margaret, she stared straight ahead at the various speakers, unmoving except for the occasional blink. At one point, Mary Margaret had put her hand over her daughter's. Emma had winced at the contact, but when she looked over in her direction Mary Margaret smiled at her, and she'd managed to muster a half-hearted one before turning back to the service. Whether or not they knew they were mother and daughter, the connection they were starting to share was, without doubt, growing stronger by the day. Sad as all this was, that was positive thought.

He didn't stay for the reception, which he was sure, given the service, would lack both space and food. No, he didn't stay because he had work to do. Or rather work to oversee. Across town, he'd hired Dove and a few of his cousins to "clean out" Sheriff Graham's apartment. Though, of course, that was only half of it. In actuality, they'd been hired to comb through the apartment and locate any personal possessions and collect them for him to pick up.

Painful as it was, life went on. Life had to go on because this small town had been stuck in a rut for far too long. Not that he cared about anyone else but his boy, but he also knew that keeping this town moving forward was the only way to prevent more useless, wasteful death. And after watching Emma, who had dutifully been acting as deputy all this time, he was already working on the next steps in a new plan.

"This is it?" he questioned as Dove brought a single cardboard box to him and set it on the small coffee table in front of the equally tiny couch. "One box?"

Dove shrugged. "There wasn't really much to find. The apartment is fully furnished but not much of a home. He was married to his job, it seemed, so we didn't find many personal items. Guy didn't have any family, so no pictures or anything sentimental. Unless, of course, you found someone?"

Ah yes, when he'd explained the job to Dove, he'd told him it was because he was going to search for someone related to the man to take his possessions. The honest truth was that he hadn't even bothered trying. Dove was right. The man had no family; none with two legs that would appreciate any of his knick-knacks anyway. The Evil Queen's Huntsman had practically been raised by wolves, and since she'd wanted him to herself...she hadn't given him a family in the Curse. He was alone, even when he was with her. A lone wolf through and through.

"It seems our former Sheriff was a genuine man. What you saw was what there was. He had no family."

"Well…that's too bad. But this is it. Other than the clothes which we either donated or threw out, this was really all that was left of him. Given the circumstances, I'd ask if you wanted me to take these to the local pawn shop but seeing as how that's also you-"

"It's a job well done, Mr. Dove," he interrupted, peering into the box to look over what they had found. One item, in particular, stood out. It was a leather jacket, not the type that Emma Swan appeared to fancy but….

"I thought you donated or threw the clothes away."

"It was his favorite jacket, Sir," one of Dove's cousin's answered from somewhere behind him.

"That's Marc," Dove explained. "He played darts with Graham every Monday night."

"He wore it everywhere, Sir," Marc insisted sadly. "It's not really…ordinary. Remy said you wanted keepsakes…"

And so it appeared he'd gotten keepsakes. Some more helpful than others. Now that he was looking, he did see a dartboard with several darts bundled together in a coffee cup at the bottom. That was certainly not something he needed. In a rare moment of pity, he removed the board and darts and held them out for Marc. "I think these will have a happier home with you."

Marc took a breath, then turned red as he reached out and took them. "Thank you, Sir," he choked out.

"So what now?" Dove asked as his cousin looked the items over, and he saw him wipe his eyes on the back of his hand.

"Now the apartment is professionally cleaned, carpets and surfaces will be replaced, and it'll be rented out again. You know how this goes, Mr. Dove. Out with the old, in with the new."

"Rented out, wait…doesn't the Sheriff job come with the apartment? What about the new girl? Emma. She's only the deputy, but she's been acting as sheriff since he died? Shouldn't she be promoted? Shouldn't she move in?"

"I'd rather keep all that quiet for now," he smiled. Though that wasn't exactly in the cards, for now, it was reassuring that was where Dove's head had immediately gone for the future of the Sheriff. "She can't formally take the position until two weeks after it's vacated. As for the apartment when she does…well…you've been watching her Dove, does she seem the type to want to live in her dead former employer's apartment."

"Not particularly, but…Mary Margaret's place isn't exactly big."

"But it's not small either. No, I'd like to keep her where she's at. When she takes the job, we can keep her at salary instead of taking out for an apartment."

"And the box?"

"I think I'll hold on to it for a bit. You never know when it might come in handy."

"But, Sir-"

"Don't ask questions!" Dove shouted at another of his cousins. The corner of his own mouth twitched. It seemed that Dove had indeed learned his lesson. It seemed he might have even enjoyed the power trip that came from being in his employ. Good.

He motioned for Dove to pick up the box and carry it to his car for him, again motioning to his cane. Once it was set snug inside his trunk, he turned back to him. "Finish the cleaning; I'll see you're all paid, with a reminder, of course, that I expect services to come with discretion."

"We know. He knows."

"Good," he confirmed, slipping a pair of sunglasses on and fumbling with his keys. "I'll be in touch. There are things I'll need from you in the next few days. I will be looking to hire a couple of your cousins to help me with some other work. Just some little things, but I'm working on something special, and I need more eyes than you have. Be sure they know that discretion can buy them their way to the top of the list."

"Always happy to help, Sir. Any of us are."

He beamed. He might not have magic, but money did have a special sort of power in this world. "That's what I like about you, Mr. Dove. Wait for my instructions."

As he drove back to the pawnshop, he could hear Graham's belongings rattle and shift in the trunk. All that was left of a Cursed life. Nothing that would have been truly important to him if he'd died knowing who he was. If that was the case, he suspected Graham would have died happy, knowing Emma was with him. It was a waste. The only benefit from it that he now had a suspicion about where Regina was keeping her magic. Graham had no home, no family, no purpose other than being the Sheriff.

He had plans for Emma, though. She had a purpose and a family; she just didn't know it yet. As for the home part…that was something that would take time, but it wasn't contingent on the Curse breaking. He could begin that process now. He could make her invested in this place, these people, he could make this her home. He just had to wait a few more days, and until then, he had to proceed with caution. There were forces at work even beyond his control.